Cross Examination
by Sunnykisses
Summary: Detectives Travis and Wes are put on a case connecting Wes to his ex-wife and a powerful criminal who has a knack for code. The search takes them across the country, but will they be able to realize what Ramon Caballo's true intentions are before he stumps them for good? This man is dangerous, and not afraid to take lives, as Travis and Wes soon discover. Wes/Alex, no slash.
1. Cross Examination

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter One

* * *

**A/n: **Well, here we go, my first Common Law fic!There are lots of twists and turns in this story, and truly fun to write. I hope you enjoy Cross-Examination.

**Cross-Examination:** Questioning by a party or the attorney of an adverse party or a witness.

**Beta: **BrokenSky49

* * *

Detective Travis Marks placed his arm protectively around his foster sister, Angel, as the court order was read. It was odd for him to be in a place like this as the supporter, not the cop. The other policemen that were dispersed around the courtroom hardly recognized Travis without his police partner.

They were 'the therapy guys'. The thought made Travis a little ill. Here he was, trying to make a respectful career out of his sorry life, and he was put with someone like Wes Mitchell.

Now, it wasn't as if Wes was the end of the world. He and Travis got along for the most part, joked around, and had each other's back. But, besides that, they were completely different. Utterly, irrevocably different. Wes had to stop thinking like the lawyer he once was if he wanted to get anywhere.

Speaking of which.

Alex MacFarland Mitchell, the prosecuting attorney, stood tall in front of Travis. Her smooth dress and delicate hair did not fool anyone —this girl was all business. She wasn't going to let a risk-taking husband get in her way, so she divorced Wes. Just like that. It was hard for Travis to watch his partner turn from the arrogant former lawyer to a man who was wallowing in self-pity and guilt. Travis almost felt sorry for the guy, until, of course, he opened his snarky mouth.

"We, the jury, find the defendant, Ramon Caballo, not guilty."

Outrage. That was the first word that came to mind for Travis. His sister began to tremble underneath his strong grasp, a single, bottled tear escaping. Alex hung her head. The parents of this poor, poor girl held each other tight.

Jessica Abel, not yet eleven years old and a victim of child rape, walked out of the room. Her parents followed immediately.

The courtroom had become deathly quiet now. A little colder, a little darker. Travis stared at Alex as she snapped her briefcase shut and shook hands with the defending lawyer before heading out of the room. The sound of her heels hitting the tile briskly could be heard down the hallway until the door closed with an intimidating thud.

"Give her time," Travis whispered into his little sister's hair. "Let her grieve."

Angel did not move. She listened to her brother, her shoulders shaking. She wiped her eyes, leaning against her foster brother until her foster mother walked into the room. Both siblings turned around at the sound of the door opening.

"Mama," Angel ran to her open arms, instantly breaking down. "Mama, he's guilty, I just know he's guilty!"

"There, there, sweetheart," Janet's strong, soothing voice comforted the crying girl. "We can't win all the time."

She caught Travis's eye as he rose from his seat. He gave her a soft smile, as if to reflect the mood of the botched hearing.

"Detective," she greeted with a warm smile. She was so proud of what Travis had accomplished in his adulthood so far, it made the other foster children aspire to be more. He always had a way with the children he came to call his brothers and sisters.

"Janet," Travis nodded back. "You look good."

"Oh, you're sweet." Janet brushed the comment aside. "I want to thank you for looking after dear Angel."

"Her best friend is going through an incredibly difficult time right now; of course I'd be there for her."

"That's just because you think Jesse's sister is hot." Angel sniffed, pulling away from Janet with a mischievous smile.

"Well, that too." Travis laughed, patting her on the back. "Listen, I gotta head out."

"Do you have to go to therapy with your boyfriend?" Angel teased.

"You bounce right back, don't you?" Travis rolled his eyes. "See you later, girl."

"Bye, Travis!"

"Janet," he nodded at his former foster mother. She pulled him in and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered before pulling away and pushing him out the door.

* * *

"_Mr. Caballo here obviously has a problem with remembering things, your Honor. Not long ago, his wife, Wanda, suddenly disappeared, is that correct, Mr. Caballo?"_

"_That's irrelevant." The defense attorney shot up immediately, pointing the finger at Alex MacFarland Mitchell. The judge gave him a look._

"_Where are you going with this, Mrs. Mitchell?" The judge asked. Alex bit back the kind reminder that she was now Ms. MacFarland and pressed on._

"_Your Honor, Mr. Caballo does not remember the disappearance of his wife, so there is no indication that he would remember raping a young girl that very same night. Perhaps he was drunk, perhaps he was hit upside the head—your Honor, just because Mr. Caballo seems to have no recollection of the night he raped a child does not mean he is without fault."_

* * *

"Ms. MacFarland," somebody was tapping Alex's shoulder, a little harshly. Alex was now outside of the courtroom, taking time to check her phone messages. She turned around to see Ramon Caballo smiling back at her. She instinctively took a step back. Even if the jury did not think that this pig was guilty of the most heinous crime imaginable—she knew better, and her client knew better.

"Your name is Ms. MacFarland, am I correct?" Ramon repeated.

"Yes, you would be correct," Alex picked up her briefcase and cleared her throat. "People usually call me Mrs. Mitchell, that's all."

"Oh, how dull that seems. To be constantly plagued by an undeserving ex."

"I woul-"

"What did he do, then? This 'Mr. Mitchell'. Cheat? Steal? Kill? Trust me, I've seen it all." Ramon's tan hands waved around him casually as he spoke, emphasizing his slight accent. His dark, thick hair was slicked back for the special occasion of his innocence, but there was no denying the empowering height or wicked twinkle in his eyes.

"He…he embarked in a career that I did not approve of." Alex answered cautiously. "I don't see how any of this is your business, Mr. Caballo."

"Please, call me Ramon." He winked.

"Okay, then, Ramon. Why don't you tell me about your wife, huh? Did she finally run off after you raped my client?"

"As you heard in the court room, Ms. MacFarland, I am clearly not the one that raped that poor child. Clearly, she is not right in the head, if you know w-"

"Clearly the jurors didn't know who they were exonerating, Mr. Caballo. But really, I have to hand it to your lawyer—building a case against a child fully on loose evidence and racism really pulls away from the real crime."

"And that would be…?"

"That you got away with rape." Alex snapped. "And maybe you can live with that, Mr. Caballo, but my client will never, ever, forget what you did to her." She started to walk away from Ramon when he suddenly grabbed her by the arm. His grip was hard as steel, his fingers digging into her skin.

"Let go of me!" She hissed.

"Ms. MacFarland," he was close to her now, his breath hot against her neck. "I advise you not to make me angry."

"Why, will you turn into the Hulk?" Alex retorted, and then sighed. She really needed to get Wes's DVDs out of the house.

"Funny, Ms. MacFarland, you are hilarious." Ramon was still holding onto her. Her arm was beginning to throb, and she whimpered, struggling against his grasp. "I need to make sure that you're listening, Ms. MacFarland, so once you settle down we can begin."

Alex stopped. She listened.

"Good, Ms. MacFarland, very good. Now, about today—don't ever use my wife's name against me again, or I will make sure-"

"Let her go!" From the other side of the room, Wes Mitchell stood his ground, hands balled into fists.


	2. No Contact Order

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter two

* * *

**No Contact Order:** A court order that prohibits contact by a defendant with a victim; can be ordered by a judge, a bail commissioner, a probation officer or a parole officer.

**Beta: **BrokenSky49

* * *

"What the hell are you doing?" Detective Wes Mitchell rounded on Ramon Caballo, irate. The child-raping bastard was not going to lay a single finger on his wife.

Ex-wife.

"I see I've caused trouble with the lingering ex." Ramon brushed off his suit, pulling away from Alex. "I will leave, Ms. MacFarland, but keep in mind what I said." He then moved towards Wes. "You keep a short leash, don't you, Mr. Mitchell?"

"Detective Mitchell." Wes corrected through gritted teeth.

"Make sure that, when she finally earns her independence, that you aren't the one getting hurt." Ramon turned quickly away, gesturing for his lawyer to follow. The two took their time leaving, gathering their things and conversing before strolling towards the impending doorway. It was as if they were giving Wes time to think. He knew Alex was just waiting to yell at him. And he knew what she was going to say—the same old things. I'm my own person, I can handle myself, what the hell do you think you're doing-

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing?" Alex snapped once the doors had closed. Wes looked up dully at her, refraining from a long sigh. He was going to let her talk herself out. Never mind that he just saved her from Ramon, apparently that wasn't good enough for Alex _MacFarland. _

"I can handle _myself_, Wes." Alex shook her head in disgust. "I'm not your wife; I can do as I please."

"What are—_what_?" Wes was suddenly alert. "Please don't tell me you were enjoying _that." _

"It may be hard to believe but I'm _strong_, okay? Yeah, I lost the case, and yeah, I'm pissed, but that doesn't mean I'm going to run off to the police academy and quit my job."

"_Don't_ make this about me, Alex. This isn't about me." Wes ran a twitching hand through his blond hair, getting more frustrated by the second. Women couldn't just say _thank you, _could they?

"It's _always _about you!" Alex's voice was rising to the high ceilings of the court, and this time, the jury was an unfortunate bystander. "I mean, what the hell are you even doing here, Wes?"

There she went again, saying his name like _that. _In that I'm-disappointed-in-you kind of way. The way that made Wes want to punch a wall and fall to his knees in remorse all at the same time. What was it about Alex that made him want to kiss her and run away from her every time he saw her? They had been divorced for almost a year now—or was it over a year?—and Wes kept trying to find outlets to see her. Even if he had to be Travis's tagalong.

"I…" Wes sighed in defeat. "Travis was here, something about family…I'm not sure. I just came so we could catch our-" he cleared his throat uncomfortably, "-therapy session."

"Therapy session."

"Yes, Alex, I've told you about it before."

"I never said I didn't know what it was, Wes." There she said it in a why-don't-you-trust-me kind of way.

"Okay, okay. All right." Wes ran a tired hand along his cheek. "I was just making sure."

"Wes…" Why-did-you-have-to-ruin-everything-when-you-became-a-cop kind of way.

"Yo, Wes!" Travis Marks walked unassumingly into the conversation, slipping his jacket on as he sauntered towards the tense two. "Time to go, man."

"Yeah," Wes muttered in agreement. He dared not look at Alex—the sad look in her eyes was enough to…well, he just didn't want to look at her.

Wes followed Travis, his head down, but his sights set.

Therapy was probably best for him right now.

* * *

_The way Ramon touched her—no, Alex did not want that. She couldn't have. That would be absurd, crazy to think about. _

_What did she mean she could handle herself? What could she handle that I couldn't? I mean, two is better than one, right? And what about that crap—that I'm selfish or something? Are you freaking kidding me? Everything I do is for her. I didn't break up their 'whatever' for my own sake, I did it for her! Damn, what was her deal this morning? And what was _my _deal? I didn't exactly handle that fight the best I could, I mean, I've had my fair share of-_

"Earth to Wes." Travis waved a hand in front of Wes's face, eyebrows raised. Wes looked up from his hunched over position. The rest of the couples were staring at him, a little concerned. At the center was Dr. Emma Ryan, a single eyebrow arched in question.

Biting back a curse, Wes sat up as straight as he could, staring back at the inquisitive doctor.

"Please, don't let me stop you."

"Wes, is something the matter?" Dr. Ryan asked cautiously. Wes could feel Travis's steady gaze on him, along with everyone else's.

"What were we talking about, again?" Wes asked bleakly.

If the doctor was dissatisfied, she did not show it, rather turning back a few pages of paper on her clipboard before continuing. "We were speaking about what will come up next week." She spoke slowly. "I wanted to make sure that everyone was comfortable with our plans."

"Which are…?"

"One-on-one sessions. With me." Dr. Ryan answered calmly. "So I can change how we approach our recovery accordingly."

"Isn't this group therapy?" Wes retorted.

"It is."

"Then why change? Anything you have to say to me can be shared with all of these…people." Wes looked at them a little disdainfully.

"Cool it, man," Travis whispered guardedly.

"All right, then, Wes, thank you for your input." Dr. Ryan smiled softly at him. "In fact, let's start this right now. Wes, why don't you tell the group what you were thinking so intensely about, hmm?"

Wes was silent. Travis put his head in his hands.

"Nothing?" Dr. Ryan feigned disappointment. "That's too bad. We'll start the private sessions now." She tapped a woman's shoulder. She looked fretfully at her husband before following Dr. Ryan. "While we're gone, I encourage you to stay and talk, a simple conversation goes a long way." She looked at Wes pointedly and left the room.

The couples were silent, staring at each other or the ground. It wasn't as if they felt awkward around each other, but they had nothing to say. It was truly a sorry sight, Travis figured, slipping out his phone and checking his messages.

"Aw, that's sweet." Travis smiled, speaking to himself. Wes rolled his eyes; he knew full well that Travis was just trying to spark up some sort of conversation.

And it worked.

"What?" A woman next to Travis asked.

"Oh," Travis feigned surprise. "It's just one of my foster sisters, Angel. She just thanked me for helping her out today. She's going through a tough time right now, so I had to be there, you know? I mean, that's what family is fo-"

"You're not her family." Wes snapped.

"What?" Travis looked almost a little taken aback, Wes realized annoyingly. Travis was a man, he could take Wes's crap time and time again, except when it involved his precious foster families.

"Nothing, man. Whatever." Wes's hands covered his face, and he took in a deep breath. "It doesn't matter."

"Travis, Wes, what are you two whispering about?" Dr. Ryan was back in the room suddenly, hands on her hips. The two boys looked up sheepishly.

"Aren't you supposed to be having a meeting?" Wes asked.

"Why, yes, Wes, you know that. I seem to have forgotten my clipboard."

"Right." Wes grumbled.

"You two better still be here when I return." Dr. Ryan pointed at both of them before exiting again.

Travis and Wes looked at each other. The idea of leaving seemed very promising to them at the moment.

"Anything on your mind, Wes?" Travis asked knowingly.

"I want to know everything about Ramon Caballo that I can." Wes answered.

"Hm." Travis frowned. "Well I don't see how we can do that when we're stuck in therapy."

"You make a good point."

"I'll get the car started."

"Right behind you." Wes grabbed his jacket.


	3. Appeal

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter three

* * *

**A/n: **Hello, readers! Thanks for sticking with me on this story so far, I have really enjoyed writing it. However, my Beta and will both be gone in the next couple weeks, on our respective vacations. From July 18-August 4 one or both of us will be gone. I encourage you to stick with the story. I have sent a few chapters to BrokenSky49 to look over, so hopefully, when we both return, we can immediately get to work. At the bottom of the page are some previews for the rest of the story-something to look forward to! :)

**Appeal:** Asking a higher court to review the decision or sentence of a trial court because the lower court made an error.

**Beta:** BrokenSky49

* * *

Travis jumped out of the car immediately after Wes put it in park. He was ready to get back to work, any excuse to skip therapy worked with him. He knew that both he and Wes did not have therapy high on their list of top things to do.

Another reason was that Travis wanted to get out of the car as fast as possible. The condescending air surrounding Wes today was almost suffocating. The man was literally seething. Over what, Travis wasn't sure, but he was certainly glad that he broke up that…altercation between Wes and Alex. He feared that they were about to start throwing punches at any second.

"Captain, how you doing?" Travis greeted Captain Sutton as he passed him, coffee in hand.

"Don't you have a session to go to?" Sutton hardly looked his way as he headed to his office.

"About that, sir. It ended early." Picking up his pace, Travis walked with him.

"For you two, maybe." Sutton grunted, throwing open the door to his office. With a sigh, he took a seat.

"Well-"

"Where's Wes?" Sutton suddenly looked up. "He still in therapy?"

"No, uh, he's probably still in the car…pouting."

"Over what?"

"He and Alex got into a _fight_." Travis lowered his voice.

"Yeah, that's what they do. They're divorced." Sutton rolled his eyes. "Just don't tell Wes that."

"Understood, Captain." Travis smiled. Truth hurts. "Anyway, once Wes gets in here, I think he had a couple questions-"

"Captain Sutton," Wes strolled into the room, that same confident sense back in him. "Permission to investigate a Mr. Ramon Caballo?"

"For what?" Sutton asked. "Mr. Caballo was freed of all charges today, did you not know?"

"I know full well that he was incarcerated today, sir, but I also know that there's not one ounce of innocence in that man." Wes answered quickly, hands on his hips.

"How do you know that, Mitchell?"

"He attacked my—Alex. He attacked Alex."

"He attacked her?" Sutton frowned. "Define 'attacked'."

"He…he had her hand and he standing close to her and-"

"He was shaking her hand?" Travis raised his eyebrows.

"Shut up, man!" Wes groaned. "Listen, Captain, I could tell Alex wasn't comfortable."

"Really. How did you figure that one out, Wes? Did you use your spouse powers?"

"Ah, chief, he doesn't have those powers anymore, remember? Alex got those powers when she took his house." Travis retorted, and then beamed. He was pretty proud of himself. That was a good one. Sutton laughed.

Wes didn't.

He glared at Travis before storming out of the room. Travis and Sutton stared at each other. That was unlike Wes. To storm out like that…it was almost immature.

"Listen," Wes stormed back in, face slightly pink. "I will find something against Ramon Caballo. He's a horrible person that got away for a horrible crime and he deserves justice. Mark my words, chief, I will arrest that man before he can hurt anyone else."

"Well, you won't arrest him," Sutton corrected. "You'll need your partner's help as well."

"Thank you, chief." Travis grinned.

"And as long as you're going to make this Ramon Caballo your personal vendetta, you might as well put it to use." Sutton reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a file. "You can investigate Wanda Caballo's disappearance. That's Ramon's wife. And, if you happen to meet up with Ramon along the way, you have my blessing. Now get the hell out of my office."

* * *

Wanda Caballo hadn't been seen in days, according to the file. Ramon himself had filed the disappearance, in the midst of his own battle with the law.

"Short woman, five feet two inches, knows little English, last seen the night of June fifth." Wes read aloud the description, taking note of Ramon's handwriting. It was a neat, cursive style of writing, very old-fashioned. It looked much better than Travis's chicken scratch, anyhow.

"I don't know, man. Maybe she couldn't handle living with someone like Ramon anymore." Travis seemed unfazed by the possible kidnapping. "I mean, having your husband as a child raper? No way."

"So you believe me," Wes breathed out a sigh of relief. "I thought you were siding with Sutton."

"You kidding, man? I've seen how Ramon has affected Jessica, the girl he attacked. I mean, Jess and I…we're mutually related."

"That—that doesn't make sense."

"Yeah it does."

"In your mind, maybe." Wes rolled his eyes, but Travis seemed adamant.

"No, man, listen to this: I'm Angel's foster brother, and Angel is always telling me how she and Jessica are like sisters, so we're mutually related" Travis raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response. Wes just stared at him.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Travis beamed.

"Whatever, man." Wes shut the file. "I think I know where I can get some more information on Ramon."

"Where?" Travis was interested, now. Wes hesitated, and that's all the ammunition Travis needed. "No. No, man! Alex isn't going to talk to you after your argument today, man. Trust me, you gotta give her time."

"I don't have time to give, Travis!" Wes threw up his hands. "How long do we have until Ramon attacks another child, or more of his family goes missing?"

"We haven't decided if Wanda ran away or was kidnapped, though." Travis pointed out.

"I think, if she did run away, she would have left a note, or there would have been some sort of sign, right?" Wes figured. "Besides, if her husband cared enough to give a statement, then something must be wrong. How many men or women do you know that give a statement when their wife or husband leaves them?"

"All right, all right, fine." Travis sighed. "I agree with you, but we're only assuming, here. Nothing is certain yet."

"Since when were you so careful?" Wes asked, frowning. "And don't say that it's because you're mutually related to anyone. That's-" Sutton walked by. "-crap." Wes finished cautiously.

"Like the captain said, I don't want this Alex/Ramon thing getting to your head. We're here to find Wanda, not Ramon." Travis shrugged. "Besides, I don't think Ramon is the type of guy to be messed with."

"Agreed. Which is why I need to get Alex to give me her files on him. She's a prosecuting lawyer, Travis; she's got to have loads of incriminating stuff against him by now."

"Fine, man, whatever." Travis resigned. "I just don't see how she's going to just hand you the file like nothing ever happened."

"Easy," Wes smiled mischievously. "I'll use my spouse powers."

* * *

**A/n: **Here's what's in store:

-Ramon begins to threaten.

-Wes and Travis must fly to the other side of the country to continue their investigation on Wanda Caballo.

-Wes and Travis get caught in the middle of a shooting, and someone gets shot.

-Wes and Alex get intimate.

-Wes suddenly finds himself without his partner.

-A young woman proves not to be who she is thought to be.

-Wes and Travis question Ramon's family.

-Wanda is not who you think.

-Alex is attacked.

-Travis has hallucinations.

-Ramon begins to use code.

-Something blows up.

-Someone is killed by the end of the story.


	4. Investigatory Grand Jury

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter four

* * *

**A/n: Hello again, everyone! BrokenSky49 and I thank you profusely for your patience thus far in this story. I hope you enjoy chapter four, five and six are on their way!**

**Investigatory Grand Jury:** A judge, constitutional state referee or any three judges of the Superior Court, appointed by the Chief Court Administrator to conduct an investigation into the commission of a crime or crimes.

**Beta:** BrokenSky49

* * *

Wes Mitchell drove the familiar, old path to his home—his former home. In the passenger seat was not his wife, but a simple briefcase and a jacket. He was not driving to go home and sleep, he was driving to collect information, and work. He was not going to ask about family or what was for dinner, but about a criminal. He was not coming as a friend, a lover, or a husband. He was coming as a cop.

He would be curt; he would stand his ground and press his case. Wes had learned and was learning ways to integrate his time as an attorney with his job as a detective. Alex—Ms. MacFarland—would put up a fight, for sure. She was a hard-headed, no-funny-business lawyer who wasn't going to put up with anyone's begging or crying.

On the other hand, Wes remembered, she was a beautiful, funny, sweet, and undeniably sexy woman who used to be his wife. Wes let his eyes slip shut as his car slowed to a stop before a pending red light. He remembered everything about her, still. From the way her shampoo smelled to the way she smiled at him over a badly told joke to how peacefully she slept, Wes remembered it all. A woman like her moved on after a bad marriage. Wes, however, was still reeling, still hoping. Still dreaming.

"C'mon, man, suck it up." Wes spoke to himself, breaking the unanswerable silence. He craned his neck until he heard comforting _popping_ noise. He did the same with the other side of his neck until he felt more relaxed. That's all he needed to be. Relaxed.

_Ring! _

The sudden noise startled Wes so much that his hands clamped the wheel. Cursing, he swerved his car back into the correct lane and peered down at his loud phone.

_Travis Marks. _

"No way." Wes scoffed, shaking his head. He wasn't going to talk to Travis right now. Not right before he saw Alex. He was trying to act _normal. _Travis would just annoy him with his carefree arrogance or dumb question or, perhaps he was prank-calling Wes.

No, Travis was definitely going to voicemail.

"Wes, my man, hey…I'm just, you know, checking in on you. Wanted to see if you're actually doing your job or if you chickened out. I'm _guessing _you're parked outside her house, freaking out. If I'm right, just text me back. I won't even care what. Okay. See you later."

Wes processed the message, and then, when Travis's smug tone flew from the car like the whispering wind, he deleted the message. Screw Travis and his ignorance. Wes was going to get his job done. Unlike Travis, he was prompt.

As he neared the modest home, Wes eased up, slowing down. He always drove too fast. He was always in a hurry. Alex had always told him to be more measured with his time, to take it all in. She was right. Again.

A lovely flower garden greeted Wes, and he parked his car gently. He always tried to be gentle with his car, but his car was inanimate. Other things he wasn't so gentle with. He hadn't been gentle enough with Alex.

They had argued over how many times a month to weed the flowers.

They had argued over Alex's favorite blossom. Of course, Wes knew she loved peonies, or so he thought. She had become more of a lily person.

They had argued over whether the trees needed to be watered.

Stupid, stupid things had led to Wes signing those papers. Alex had had enough. Did he blame her? Did she blame him?

There she was, Alex. He could see her through the window, peering into the refrigerator. Slim, yoga tights clung to her legs as she inspected the frozen food. Had she been running? No, she always put her hair up when she exercised. Wes was lost in her essence. Had he really yelled at her this morning? Damn his temper, always getting the best of him. Damn Alex, for taking the best of him when they separated.

He grabbed his jacket and got out of his car, slipping on the coat and locking the door. He wanted this to be quick, so he could be done wallowing in guilt. He was pathetic, he truly was.

For almost seven at night, the sky was unnaturally light, another indication of the summer that was here and to come. Heat rippled all around Los Angeles and the rest of the country, forest fires ravished Colorado-

Okay, now he was just avoiding the subject. Buttoning his suit, Wes quickened his pace and knocked confidently on the front door. He had painted this door.

They had agreed on the color.

He was already breaking a sweat. Again with the heat, Wes.

Seconds went by. No answer. Rolling his eyes, Wes knocked again, one hand impatiently placed on his hip. He knew Alex didn't like to rush things, but he wasn't Alex.

"Coming!" The door flew open, and a flustered Alex stared at Wes in surprise. Wes raised a hand in greeting before letting it fall loosely to his side. He was going to knock again with that hand.

"I should have known it was you," Alex tucked a strand of brunette hair behind her ear. "You knocked almost a hundred times."

"I knocked six times." He corrected.

"Right," Alex rolled her eyes with a slight smile. Damn that smile. He wasn't going to fall for her cuteness. He needed information.

But first he would wait for her to let him in. He was a gentleman, after all.

"What do you need, Wes?" Alex asked.

"Can I-?"

"Yes," Alex opened the door a little wider, so that Wes could come in. He did, taking in the welcome air conditioning and memorable furniture.

They had agreed on the couch, but not the loveseat.

"Alex," Wes started, hands on his hips. His badge reflected off the lamp, standing out. It was almost as if he were proving something to Alex. I'm not a failure. I don't have to be a lawyer to be successful. I don't have to be your husband to be happy. "I need your help."

"My help?" Alex almost laughed. "You're asking me for help? You must be in pretty deep, huh?"

"I need your files on Ramon Caballo." Wes stood his ground, just like he told himself to. He wasn't going to be fazed.

"Why?" Alex's sweet smile faded, and Wes's face fell. He didn't want to argue, not again. Not anymore.

"It's confidential, Alex, you should know that."

"Oh." She said quietly, closing the door softly.

"Alex, can you trust me on this?" Wes spoke directly to her, looking into her telling eyes. "Can you do this for me?"

"Wes, you-"

"I promise, once this case is over, I'll tell you everything. But, for now, this is confidential. Don't worry, Travis knows I'm here, I'm not going behind his back."

Alex was silent for a few moments. She looked down. So did Wes. Her feet were bare, toenails painted a bright red, shiny and neat.

They argued over the smell of nail polish remover.

"I have all his files in my office," she whispered. "I can give them to you tonight, if you want."

"I want that very much," he nodded. "Please, Alex."

"Okay," she nodded. "Wait here."

It did not take long for Alex to fetch the files. Wes had time to take a seat on the agreed-upon couch and check his phone messages before she returned. Her hair had been pulled into a loose bun, and she held two, thick manila folders in her hands.

She held out the folders, waiting for him to take it. When he did, his hand brushed against her smaller, delicate one. He did not linger, pulling back quickly. He didn't want to look at her; he didn't want to see the disappointment in her face. They were divorced. That was final. Why didn't he understand that?

"Th-thanks," Wes cleared his throat, flipping through the papers quickly before looking back up at Alex. "This means a lot, Alex."

"Trust me, Wes; I want him in jail just as much as you do." Alex assured him. Wes nodded, fidgeting uncomfortably. He didn't want to leave just yet.

"Alex, about this morning-"

"I don't want to talk about that." This time, Alex looked down. She laughed nervously. "You know, I've been thinking about-"

"I was out of line." Wes answered quickly. "It wasn't your fault."

"I appreciate that, Wes." Alex nodded. "Listen, I know it's getting late, and it would be nothing fancy, and I know this is so sudden, but…would you want to stay for dinner?"

Wes stopped in his tracks. Dinner was definitely not what he had in mind. 'Dinner' was absolutely out of his plan. 'Dinner' was hardly business-like.

Dinner couldn't be _that_ bad, could it?


	5. Amicus Curiae brief

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter five

* * *

**Amicus Curiae brief****:** A Latin term meaning "friend of the court." An Amicus Curiae brief is filed by someone who is not a party to a case but has an interest in its outcome. A person who wants to file an amicus curiae brief usually has to get the court's permission to do so.

**Beta: **BrokenSky49

* * *

Trying new things, Alex decided, was always a good thing to do. Eating with Wes wasn't really a new thing, though, she supposed. They used to do it all the time when they—well, before. Perhaps she was just being courteous, dinner was already on her mind before Wes had even knocked (six times) on the door.

With leftover noodles, parmesan cheese and some red sauce, Alex whipped up some spaghetti. It wasn't much, and she didn't even have any garlic bread. She hoped Wes enjoyed the food, anyhow. She opened her cupboard and pulled out a couple of plates.

Oh.

Wedding gifts. Alex hung her head. What would Wes think when he saw what dishware he would be eating off of? Would he think that she was trying to make some sort of move? No, no, this was just a casual dinner between…friends. Former coworkers. Former lovers. Former spouses.

Alex grabbed two forks. She had to stop second-guessing herself. She wasn't a doubtful person, unless she was around Wes, of all people. That's why she spent most of her days trying to get _away _from him. She hoped he did the same.

"Okay, Wes." Alex strode into the dining room, setting down the right silverware. "Could you help me with-" Wes looked up from the newspaper he was reading, ready to listen. Alex stopped. He had taken off his jacket, and a few buttons were left loose on his pale, purple shirt. On the coffee table in front of him lay the files and his phone, poised for him to snatch at any moment if the time came. He looked so comfortable, sitting on the couch. Alex half expected him to take his shoes off.

"Yes?" Wes raised his eyebrows.

"Uh," Alex cleared her throat. "Th-the pasta. I was wondering if you could-"

"I got it." Wes stood, brushing past her to the kitchen. His scent lingered behind him, and Alex took in the recognizable aroma of his aftershave.

"Looks great!" Wes called from the kitchen, his voice muffled by the hardly-open door. Alex mumbled in agreement, taking off her apron sheepishly. How silly she must look—her hair was a mess, she was in her workout clothes, and worst of all, she had on an _apron._ She really was turning into her mother.

"You can just set that on the table," Alex directed as Wes came back into view, holding onto a bowl of sauce in one hand and a bowl of noodles in the other.

"Looks like there's just enough for the two of us," Wes smiled at her. She nodded back vaguely, too preoccupied. _Why _hadn't she put on makeup?

"I hope the sauce is hot enough," Alex explained as they took their seats. "I think I should have left it on longer."

"Well, if it isn't, we can just set it outside for a moment." Wes joked with a wink. "It'll be plenty hot, then."

_He's flirting. Why is he flirting? _

_No, he's not, Alex. He's talking about the temperature, that's hardly flirting. Shut up and talk to him!_

"Have you heard about the forest fires?"

_Weather? That's what you're talking about? Really!_

"Well, I mean," Alex took a bite of pasta. "We're pretty lucky to be here in LA."

"Yeah," Wes laughed. "All we have to worry about here are child rapers."

Alex looked down.

"That wasn't funny." Wes instantly knew what he did. "That was stupid, I'm sorry, Alex. I didn't mean to bring up the trial again."

"You don't have to apologize for everything," Alex continued to eat, and continued to avoid Wes's remorseful gaze. "It's all right. I understand, Wes. You were just trying to make light of a horrible crime."

"But I shouldn't have." Wes continued. "You know, all I think about is how Ramon Caballo was set free, and that he's out there now, and that that poor little girl didn't get the justice she deserved."

"Her parents are beyond irate." Alex sighed. "They want to do it all over again."

"Do they blame you for what happened?" Wes asked, apprehensive.

"A little, but I'm an easy target." Alex admitted guiltily.

"I wouldn't say that." Wes assured her. "Travis told me you fought pretty hard for your client."

"Oh, that's right, Travis was there." Alex remembered. "He was so quiet I forgot."

"Quiet?" Wes laughed. "Are you sure it was Travis, then?"

Alex smiled, and the two continued to eat once more. She could feel Wes's gaze on her as she ate, and she hoped that she wouldn't drop any of her pasta.

"Have you been home long?" Wes suddenly asked. Alex noticed that his plate was empty, a good sign. That also meant that he would be leaving soon, she supposed.

"What do you mean?"

"I see you've got some mail." Wes gestured towards the generous pile on the coffee table. Alex looked over at it as well, remembering that she hadn't looked through the papers yet.

"The mail!" She hurried over to the letters and magazines. "I haven't had time to look at the mail yet, do you mind?"

"No, no, not at all." Wes shrugged, picking up his plate. He was a relatively fast eater; Alex was not surprised that he was finished so quickly. "Are you done with your plate?"

"What? Oh, yeah." Alex thumbed through the letters. Bill, bill, reminder, bill-

A single letter with no return address or stamp sat at the bottom of the deck. It was smaller than the others, and a little wrinkled. Nevertheless, her name shone proudly in the center: _Ms. MacFarland_. Funny, even in bills she was referred to as Mrs. Mitchell, even a year after the divorce.

"_Your name _is _Ms. MacFarland, am I correct?" Ramon repeated. _

"_Yes, you would be correct," Alex picked up her briefcase and cleared her throat. "People usually call me Mrs. Mitchell, that's all."_

"_Oh, how dull that seems. To be constantly plagued by an undeserving ex." _

"_I woul-"_

"_What did he do, then? This 'Mr. Mitchell'. Cheat? Steal? Kill? Trust me, I've seen it all."_

Alex was beginning to get a sick feeling in her gut. Could the letter be from—no, that would be ridiculous. He wouldn't send her a letter. The trial was over; she was of no use to him anymore. She slipped open the envelope.

Yellowing, crumpled parchment greeted her. How long had this letter been sitting around? Or was it new? Guardedly, Alex flipped open the note, letting the envelope fall to the ground.

Seconds later, she was trembling.


	6. Bond Forfeiture

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter six

* * *

**Bond Forfeiture (calling the Bond)**: If the defendant fails to appear in court as scheduled, the judge may order the bond forfeited (paid to the state) and the defendant rearrested.

**Beta: **BrokenSky49

* * *

_Ms. MacFarland, _

_I just wanted to congratulate you again on your hard-fought attempt at my conviction. Unfortunately for you, the jury knew the truth of my innocence. _

_I realize that this letter may come as a surprise to you; rest assured I mean no harm by it. Think of this letter as a friend informing a friend of things to come. _

_Your former husband, Detective Mitchell, along with his ignorant partner, is now investigating the disappearance of my lovely wife, Wanda. While I am flattered that they care, I don't want them questioning my family in any way. _

_My family stays out of police matters, your police friends stay out of violent matters, do you understand? I'm sure you do, Ms. MacFarland, you are a smart and strikingly beautiful woman. I believe you will make the right decision when informing your dear ex. _

_A more pressing matter, however, is the fate of dear Jessica Abel. What a poor, confused child. I'm sure that she was not pleased with the outcome of the trial. No, I wouldn't have been, either. From what I hear, her parents are ready to charge again,__ from a different angle,__ which would be a mess for everyone, I'm sure. _

_I'll make a deal with you, Ms. MacFarland, I'm sure you will find no objection to it. Young Jessica Abel will not press charges, and your police friend and former lover will not find my precious wife, lest they receive the same fate as many before them. _

_Don't act like you don't know, I can see your confused expression now, Ms. MacFarland. I don't want to have to water down my plans for a smart woman like you, but you leave me no choice. _

_I will hurt you. I will hurt Detective Marks. I will hurt Jessica and her family. _

_If you bring this up to anyone, I will kill Detective Mitchell. _

_I look forward to seeing you again. _

"Alex," Wes's voice broke through the walls of fear and silence surrounding her. She couldn't move, she couldn't look at Wes. What could she say? What could she do? Nothing made sense to her at the moment.

She and Wes were _divorced_, why did he matter so much to Ramon? What purpose did Wes and his partner serve to him? How did Ramon even _know_ who Travis was; had he seen him outside of the courtroom that morning? What was she supposed to do?

"Alex, what's the matter?" Wes was suddenly at her side, his voice low and stern. His hands found her arms, and he held her steady. She feared she would fall if he let go. The letter was still in her hand. Ramon could be watching her. But Wes knew something was wrong, and he would keep pressing her until he found out. Would Ramon attack, then? What would she do?

She stuffed the letter in her bra and lifted her head high. The look on Wes's face was priceless. His eyes grew wide; his cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. His hands fell loosely to his side. He couldn't stop staring at—well, where she had put the letter. Alex felt uncomfortable at his lingering watch, and quickly walked past him.

"It's nothing." She spoke. "Something from my mother, that's all."

"Right," Wes cleared his throat, his hands deep in his pockets. "Of course."

The two stared at each other once more.

"Well," Alex could hear Wes jingle his car keys as he spoke. "I better get going."

"Okay."

"Thanks for everything." Wes grabbed his briefcase, now holding the files, and waved swiftly at her.

"Yeah," Alex tucked some hair behind her ear and watched him leave, feeling worse than she had this morning.

* * *

Wes walked into work the next morning, files in hand. He was going to show Travis what hard work looked like. He almost had a little strut to his step; he had outsmarted Travis and Captain Sutton and had gotten the files. Point for him.

When Wes arrived at his desk, Kendall, the new detective and head of the digital unit was leaning over to show Travis something on his computer. Travis was most definitely not staring at his computer.

"Your neck hurt, Travis?" Wes asked as he took his own seat. Kendall looked up to greet him, her cheeks a bright shade of pink. _That's strange,_ Wes thought, _it's not that hot in here. _

"Oh, hello, Wes." Travis wasn't taking any of his crap. "You're coming in a little late today. Did you have a long night with your ex or was it strictly 'business'?"

"Oh, I assure you, we got more done than _you_ did last night." Wes reached casually into his briefcase for the files and laid them out on Travis's desk pointedly.

"Oh, wow." Travis nodded gratefully. "That's nice. How many times did you have to get on your knees and beg for all these files? I mean, there's a lot of paper here and-"

"I'm obviously not needed here." Kendall hurriedly left the two alone. Travis watched her leave with a smile. Kendall wanted Wes, that was plainly obvious. He knew that mentioning Alex would send her quickly in the other direction.

"That was rude." Wes feigned disappointment.

"Yeah, to her, maybe." Travis rolled his eyes.

"So, what were you two talking about?" Wes asked.

"Well, while you and Alex were enjoying your little rendezvous-"

"-business meeting-"

"-Kendall was kind enough to show me _this_." Travis turned his computer towards Wes, who wheeled his chair around his desk to get closer. On the screen was a document on a woman named Nina Lopez. She lived in an apartment complex in El Sereno, near Ascot Hills Park.

"Who is Nina Lopez?" Wes was almost afraid to ask. There was no picture of the woman, so Wes had no idea if she were related to anyone or if she was even connected to the case.

"Guess what her maiden name is?" Travis asked excitedly.

Wes shrugged.

"Guess, man."

Wes was getting frustrated. Why couldn't Travis just tell him about this woman so they could get on with the case and-

"Caballo." Wes suddenly looked up. "Is she Ramon's-?"

"-sister." Travis finished with a wicked grin. "We found his _sister_."

"So?" Wes tried to suppress his growing anticipation.

"So now we talk to her, man!" Travis answered. "Think about it: Nina's _got _to know about Wanda, she's her sister-in-law."

"All right, man." Wes nodded. "Good work."

"I'm sorry, what?" Travis's jaw dropped. "Did you just _compliment _me?"

"I thought I'd give you something to think about while I'll drive. I don't want to hear your voice the whole time." Wes muttered, grabbing his keys. He took the printed document from Travis's loose grip and the files, slipping them in his briefcase.

"Dude, El Sereno's like fifteen minutes away."

"That's good," Wes nodded. "Fifteen minutes of silence."

"You're kidding." Travis stared at him. "You—you're kidding, right?"

Wes shrugged, heading towards the door. He couldn't wait to meet Nina Lopez.


	7. Lockout

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter seven

* * *

**Lockout:** Illegally forcing a tenant out of rented property, usually by changing the locks on the doors.

**Beta: **BrokenSky49

* * *

Nina Lopez lived in a small apartment complex near the edge of El Sereno, suspiciously surrounded by disregarding ferns and uncared for bushes. As Travis found a more obscure place to hide his gun—as he did not want to frighten any of the residents—he inspected the property. Cigarettes were littered around and in the sidewalk cracks. Old or new, the detective could not tell. Weeds mixed impassively with unkempt grass.

"For such a rich man, he sure doesn't pay much attention to his sister." Travis muttered.

"Yeah," Wes shut the car door, slipping his keys into his pocket. "Maybe that's why she changed her name three years ago."

"So you read the article," Travis mused. "Distracted driving isn't safe, man."

"Neither is sleeping and driving." Wes retorted, striding briskly to the door. He did not leave it open for Travis, but the policeman slipped in the entrance just in time.

"I gave you your fifteen minutes of silence, man, what more do you want?" Travis hissed from behind Wes. His partner rolled his eyes and looked down at the printed document from Kendall on their hidden resident. He read the room number of this mysterious woman; _five-B._

"What I _want_ is for Nina Lopez to give us some answers." Wes mumbled, heading up the stairs. The sounds of his neat shoes hitting the concrete stairs resonated throughout the narrow stairwell. Travis followed behind, his boots hitting each step swiftly until he was back in front. Back in charge. He had more experience than Wes, but Wes seemed to forget that.

"Room five-B should be down the hallway…" Wes spoke more to himself than to his partner, but Travis caught on, analyzing the crooked numbers on each door. He kept his head level, he didn't want to think about the water-marked ceilings or dirty carpets or how Ramon had seemingly left his sister to rot while he hoarded the family money for himself. Travis was never for deserting family if he could help it.

"Here." Travis called to Wes, his smooth fingers outlining the bent number on a particularly clean door. The 'five-B' had been polished to a tee, the knob chilly and almost slippery to the touch. Someone obviously took care of the apartment, if only on the exterior.

Wes had since joined Travis, and he, too, had noticed the drastic distinction with this door compared to the others in the complex.

"Maybe Ramon does give her a little something," Wes shrugged, unclipping his police badge from his belt and knocking on the door.

"LAPD, open up!" Travis called, his own insignia in hand. Wes's fist fell silent, and he let it lean against the door as the two partners waited for Nina Lopez. They knew she was home, at least; there was some rustling and hasty Spanish. Perhaps they had been warned, but by the sounds of it, they had not.

"One moment!" More rustling. More Spanish.

"At least we know there's a woman in there." Travis muttered.

"If not two." Wes returned with a frown. Sighing impatiently, he knocked again.

The door flew open. An attractive, young woman stared at the two policemen. They stared back. Her hair was dark as night and as long as a train, trailing down past the small of her back. A simple sundress cascaded around her juvenile figure, her tan hands placed indignantly on her hips.

"Nina Lopez?" Travis cleared his throat. "Well, you're definitely a lot hotter than we expected."

"Did somebody say my name, Anna?" A much older woman than the one staring the two partners down appeared from a different room, her shorter, graying hair pulled up and out of her face. She was wearing rubber gloves.

"Oh." Travis almost wrinkled his nose. "You're Nina Lopez?"

"The one and only." She answered with a slight frown. "Can I help you two?"

"We're here to ask you some questions, ma'am." Wes cut in, stepping in front of the disappointed Travis.

"About what?"

"Your brother."

Nina Lopez sighed, bowing her head. Anna stared back at her, biting her lip.

"Close the door, Anna." Nina whispered. "Let the boys in."

The young lady did as she was told, and the two policemen were seated on a couch accordingly. Wes got out a pad of paper and fished around for a pen while Nina and Anna whispered to each other. Not long after that, the two took a seat across from the men.

"First of all," Wes found a pen in his briefcase, clicking it victoriously. "Why was there such a commotion when I knocked?"

"Oh, that." Nina almost smiled, holding up her gloved hands. "We were doing the dishes, the noise scared us. We—Annalisse, my daughter, and I—hardly get any visitors."

"Does Mr. Caballo ever visit you?" Wes asked next.

"I don't want to speak about my brother." Nina fell silent.

"Good, because we don't, either." Travis cut off Wes's next question. "We're not here about Ramon. We're here about his wife."

"His wife..." Nina repeated uncertainly.

"Yes, Wanda Caballo. She disappeared earlier this month, on the night of June fifth. Ramon filed a report on her disappearance the night of June tenth." Wes stopped to see if Nina was still checked in to the conversation. "Do you know where she could be now? Does she have she have any family near here, like children, parents, or cousins and is it likely that she could have gone to live with them? Oh, and I guess my last question is, when did Ramon become such a horrible person?"

Travis hung his head in defeat. He just couldn't win. Damn Wes's stubbornness.

"Like my mother said before, we're not going to talk about _Ramon_." Annalisse spoke harshly, her accent not as pronounced as her mother's was. She pushed some of her hair out of her face, speaking for her mother. "Wanda keeps mostly to herself, and hardly leaves the house she and my uncle are staying in. I don't know where she could have gone or if she has any children. No more questions."

"Actually, one more question." Wes retorted. They weren't getting off that easy. "If you know nothing of Wanda Caballo or her desertion, then why would she leave you a note?"

"What do you mean?" Anna frowned, but Nina knew. She sighed, reaching towards the letter on the end table resignedly.

"How long have you had this letter, _Mami_?" Anna stared at the paper in shock.

"Busted." Travis muttered.

"It's from Wanda." Nina handed Travis the letter. "I received it the night of June seventh."

"Was there any sort of return address?" Travis asked, unfolding the parchment and staring at the Spanish words he did not understand.

"Let me see that." Wes grabbed the letter quickly, surprising Travis. Travis mumbled something along the lines of 'selfish jerk', but quickly turned back to the women, asking them simple questions about Wanda and Ramon's relationship. Wes was too preoccupied to catch on.

This was the same type of paper that Alex had received the night before. Wrinkled and yellowing. He stared at the handwriting, the same neat cursive as Ramon's handwriting, but with variations. Wanda dotted the letter 'I' with small, open circles, whereas Ramon used a mere, routine dot of ink.

"What does this say?" Wes interrupted whatever conversation Travis was trying to conduct inconsiderately. Travis shot him another dirty look. Annalisse, however, took the letter back, scanning it quickly.

"She says-"

"Read it out loud." Wes snapped. Travis was _really _giving him a look now.

"My dear sister-in-law, although we have not been formally introduced, I have heard much about you and your d-daughter from Ramon. Hopefully, the three of us can meet someday under better circumstances. I am sure you keep up with the news, Nina, so you know what your brother has done. I believe he is guilty, and every day I fear for my life with growing reason.

"I have been ridiculed and ignored by friends; the wife of a criminal is not a friend of theirs. Just like you left Ramon years ago, I leave him now. I cannot handle another day with his constant, incessant obsessions over various things. Yes, we are very much alike (as we both attended the same college and share many things in common), but I fear we grow further and further apart even as we speak.

"I do not like to live in this fear. I am returning home-"

"_Home_, where is home?" Wes threw up his hands.

"-where I can hopefully obtain some peace. Until we meet one day. Wanda." Annalisse finished. Nina kept her head bowed until her daughter finished translating before looking up.

Travis was resting his head on his hands, and he, too, looked up once Annalisse finished. Wes took the letter back and sighed.

"This confirms everything we already guessed." He glanced at Travis, who nodded.

"I say it's time for us to do some research on Wanda, don't you think?" Travis asked. Wes agreed, rising quickly.

"Thank you for your time." Wes slipped the letter into his jacket pocket and retrieved his car keys. "We'll keep you posted."


	8. Protective Order

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter eight

* * *

**Protective Order**: A criminal court order issued by a judge to protect a family or household member.

**Beta: **BrokenSky49

* * *

"Mrs. Mitchell, you have a phone call." Alex's secretary, an energetic, young intern, poked her head into Alex's office. Alex was almost too distracted to realize that her secretary was even talking to her, but when she knocked, she looked up.

"Thank you," she nodded, bringing the phone up to her ear. "This is Alex MacFarland."

"This is Dina Abel."

Alex closed her eyes in defeat. Jessica's mother. She didn't have the heart to speak with Jessica and her family so soon after the case. She still felt awful about what had happened and how Ramon had walked. Jessica, her poor, vulnerable client, had sulked off in loss. Mr. and Mrs. Abel were still in shock.

She realized that the Abel family wanted justice for their daughter. She understood that. But Alex was terrified in a way that she never had been before. Ramon Caballo was unpredictable and horrid and…for some reason, targeting Alex.

There was a box on the other side of the bed from Alex when she awoke that morning. The side of the bed where Wes used to sleep—where Wes would shut and open his eyes alongside her when they once were a couple. Alex was, at first, confused. She was sure that Wes had put up some sort of security system, why did it not go off? How did the box even get into the house?

With great caution, Alex had opened the box. She did not know what could have been inside, but she took the risk.

A scuffed, dirty baseball stared back at her. That was it. It was only a baseball. Alex almost laughed; she had been scared for nothing, hadn't she? Placing the box on a nightstand, Alex let the ball roll into her hand. She turned it around, inspecting the red stitches and white leather.

That's when she saw his name.

Wes.

Someone had etched Wes's name into the ball, the letters jagged and manipulative.

That's when the shaking had started again. That's when Alex threw the ball back in the box. That baseball had been the first thing she woke up to, and now, hours later, she was still staring at it.

Those silly question words ran through her head in an endless cycle. Who? What? When? Where? Why? How? The mystery was only growing, she feared, and she just knew Ramon Caballo had to be involved.

Alex would not involve Wes. It was too dangerous. If she could figure this out on her own, good riddance. If not, at least she would keep Wes safe. He didn't need to worry about something like this. He was probably on a case right now, or something of that matter.

"Ms. MacFarland?"

"Yes, yes, Mrs. Abel, I'm here. How can I help you?"

* * *

While driving from Nina's apartment back to the police headquarters, Wes received a phone call. His hands still on the wheel, he glanced down.

"Travis, look here! _Kendall's_ calling me." With a laugh, Wes called his partner's name.

"Are you f—_really_?" Travis groaned, throwing up his hands. "Why she gotta like _you_? What's so special about you?"

"Good question." Wes chuckled, reaching for his cell as he neared a red light. Travis's hand held him back.

"No, man. Like I said before, distracted driving." Travis took the call himself. "Let's see what Kendall could _only_ tell you."

With a dramatic clearing of his throat, Travis answered the phone with his best impression of his partner. "Wes Mitchell speaking."

"What is _that_?" Wes cried. "I don't sound like that at all!"

"Well, I'm not exactly white, now am I?" Travis shot back, muttering under his breath. He rolled his eyes and spoke to Kendall again.

"Is this Travis?" Kendall's voice was easily heard throughout the vehicle. Wes bit his lip to refrain from laughing. Travis aimed a kick to his leg.

"Distracted driving!" Wes exclaimed, purposely swerving. The car behind them honked angrily. The two partners laughed.

"Yeah, Kendall, it's Travis. What'd you find out?"

"Well, I searched through Ramon's laptop, to see if Wanda had ever been using it."

"Yeah, and?"

"From what I can tell, the computer was strictly Ramon's." Kendall answered. "And he has quite the interest in the Los Angeles Dodgers. As in the baseball team."

"The LA Dodgers?" Travis frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He bought tickets here and there, and get this: he always went alone."

"Maybe that's where he picks up kids." Wes muttered, turning. The LAPD was in plain sight, now.

"Or _maybe_ it's the American pastime." Travis sent him a dirty look. "The man just likes ball."

"Yeah, well Ramon's not—never mind." Wes shook his head, parking the car quickly. Travis told Kendall to wait by their desks, ending the phone conversation.

When the two partners got into the department building, Kendall was sitting in Travis's seat, pulling something up on the computer.

"Wow, I didn't think she listened to me." Travis looked on gratefully.

"She doesn't." Wes rolled his eyes, walking forward towards the new technical analyst. "Kendall, I don't see how this baseball thing has to do with our case. He's a rich guy with time to spare."

"I thought you might say that." Kendall smiled. "But look at _this_. On the night of June fifth he was attending a ball game."

"The same night Wanda disappeared." Travis muttered, leaning over to get a better look. Wes nodded to himself, this was very interesting. Sitting down at his desk, he opened a drawer and searched for his files on Ramon.

The drawer was empty, save for a few wrinkled cough drop wrappers and three toothpicks.

"Travis," Wes started. "What did you do with my file on Ramon?"

"I never had the file, man." Travis frowned. "Why?"

"It…It's not here." Wes looked in his other drawers. Nothing. He was beginning to get a bad feeling in his gut.

"Kendall," he spoke slowly. "Did you see anyone around my desk while Travis and I were gone?"

"Um," Kendall drummed her fingers along the cool desktop, trying to remember. "Yes. There was a lawyer here not too long ago; I had never seen her before. She was snooping around your desk. I asked her what she was doing and she said she was looking for something." Kendall looked up. "I'm sorry; I didn't ask who she was. Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Not that I know of." Wes shot up. "Alex. She must've taken the files back." He spoke to Travis. "We have to get that file back."

"Give me the keys," Travis held up his hands, ready to catch.

"Nice try." Wes hurried past him. "It's shotgun or nothing."

Groaning, Travis followed the anxious Wes Mitchell.


	9. Diversionary Programs

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter nine

* * *

**A/n: **Thank you all for the reviews so far. Keep it up!

**Diversionary Programs: **Community based programs that are used to keep eligible, convicted criminal offenders out of prison.

**Beta: **BrokenSky49

* * *

When the two police partners barged into Alex MacFarland's office, she was still staring at the mysterious baseball. The one with her ex-husband's name carved into the side.

"Wes! Travis!" Alex jumped, the baseball slipping from her fingers.

The next few seconds were very slow. All Alex watched was the ball as it rolled further and further away from her and closer and closer to the two partners. She was frozen in fear. If Wes saw, what would he think? Would he automatically assume the worst, or think nothing of the matter? And what of Travis, if he caught the ball? Would he tease her endlessly, or realize that there was a deeper meaning?

The ball came to a stop at Wes's feet. Alex closed her eyes and waited for the worst.

"You drop this?"

It was Travis's voice that brought Alex back to the world. She opened her eyes to see him waving the baseball at her. She glanced at Wes. He seemed unfazed. A little impatient, yes, but that was normal 'Wes' behavior.

"Y-yes." Alex nodded, and Travis softly tossed her back the baseball. She caught it with fervor, relief washing over her.

"I didn't know you liked sports." Wes frowned, his hands on his hips. His police badge shown proudly, as if to make a point to Alex.

"I don't, uh, it's…my brother. My brother's getting back into baseball." Alex stammered, shoving the ball back in a desk drawer.

"Really." Wes looked at her.

"Really."

"Would this certain _brother _of yours have anything to do with the files you stole from my office?"

Alex's heart sunk. How did they find out so soon? She was going to return them once she removed the certain…documents. For Ramon. She was helping Ramon.

She was helping Ramon because he was going to hurt Wes.

"_Alex_, stop ignoring the question. Where are my files?" Wes pressed.

"A-are you sure you didn't put them in the wrong drawer?" Alex asked, tucking some hair behind her ear. She glanced at Travis quickly. He seemed confused, standing slightly behind Wes. Alex supposed that he didn't think this was his argument to make.

"I keep my files in a _specific _order, Alex. Important files first, followed by other cases. All you had to do was open the drawer and there it was."

"Travis-"

"Travis didn't take the file; don't bring him in to this." Wes snapped. Now, Travis really _did _seem confused. It wasn't often that Wes defended him, especially to his ex-wife.

"What am I supposed to say, Wes?" Alex asked softly. She didn't feel like fighting with Wes today, not after all that had happened already.

"That you took the file!" Wes, however, was fired up. He seemed to be letting out his frustrations on her. "I _need_ the file for a case, Alex, that's why I asked for it last night, remember?"

"I remember giving you the file, yes." Alex nodded. "So that means _you_ must have lost it."

"No, Alex, because I put it in my _drawer _and didn't need to reach for it until about, oh, thirty minutes ago. That's when I found out it was missing."

"That's not my problem." Alex looked down, trying to busy herself with paperwork.

"Stop lying!" Wes threw up his hands. "Stop _lying_, Alex. Kendall _saw _you take the file, I know you took it."

Alex bit her lip. She looked over fleetingly towards a shelf, where the box lay. The box that held the baseball. Wes followed her gaze adamantly.

"Is that it?" he asked. "Did you put my file in that box?"

"Excuse me?" Alex felt that gripping paranoia again.

"Is that box for me?" Wes spoke more deliberately. "Alex, what is it that you're hiding?"

"How dare y-"

"_Is_ it for me?" Wes spoke just as Alex did, their voices rising every second. Alex was standing now, shaking in her anger. Wes was equally as mad, his hands flying with each forced word.

"Wes-" Travis started cautiously.

"Don't 'Wes' me, Travis. Get out of this." Wes spoke through clenched teeth. "It seems Alex has been stealing everything from me."

"Are you _serious_?" Alex exclaimed. "This is my _mail_, Wes. It's not yours."

"Oh, really? So you won't mind if I take a look at it then, will you?" Wes raised his eyebrows, storming over to the box.

"Wes! Don't!" Alex protested, but it was too late. Wes picked up the box, turning it over in his hands.

That's when he stopped cold.

On the side of the box, written in neat, old-fashioned cursive was his whole name. _To my dear Alex. For Wesley Mitchell. _There was only one person Wes knew who had handwriting as purposeful as this. Ramon Caballo.

"When did you get this?" he asked, all the life sucked out of his voice. Was Ramon sending her things? Was he threatening Alex?

"I _told _you not to look at my mail, Wes." Alex snapped, ripping the box from his hands. Wes could see how she was trembling. He could see how scared she was, the twinkle in her eye fading into dark oblivion. She had been crying. When? Just now? When she got the box?

Was Ramon using her to get to him? Was he hurting her?

Wes couldn't speak; he couldn't find anything to say. He searched and searched for the right words, but nothing came out. All he could do was stare dumbly at Alex.

"You need to leave, Wes." Alex whispered.

"What was in the box, Alex?"

"Leave."

"Alex, I can help you. Please, let me help you."

"No, Wes!" Alex cried. "You _can't _help me. What you're doing, now, with Travis, is _not _helping. I don't want to talk about it, Wes. I don't want to argue with you, I just want you to leave. I want to be alone."

Wes stayed put. His could feel his heart beat pounding against his chest. Very slowly, he reached for the box again.

"Get _out_!" Alex pushed him away harshly.

"Wes." Travis spoke finally, his voice steady and calm. Travis was being the rational one for once.

Alex wasn't moving until Wes moved. With a curt nod, Wes turned on his heel and left the room, leaving the door ajar.


	10. Adjournment

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter ten

* * *

**A/n: **Sorry for the delay!

**Adjournment:**Postponement of a court session until another time or place.

**Beta: **BrokenSky49

* * *

Collapsing in her seat, Alex put her head in her hands and began to cry. She hated that she had to lie to Wes, of all people. She hated that Wes was being pulled into this senseless drama when they weren't even together anymore, when they hardly even fit the bill of 'friends'.

How long was Ramon going to torment her like this? The case had been possibly a day before, but she felt like it would never end. She had already obstructed justice by searching through a policeman's desk. What was Ramon going to make her do next? Would she lose her job as well as the trust of Wes? Would she lose Wes entirely? And what of the Abel family, and their poor daughter? Emotions she couldn't explain held her down like quicksand. She was trapped.

"Alex."

With great alarm, Alex realized that Travis Marks was still in the room. She wiped her eyes quickly, looking up to see the detective staring back at her, his eyes wide and sad.

"Alex," he tried again. "Whatever you couldn't tell Wes, tell me."

Alex was done. She was spent, exhausted, tired. She opened her drawer again. She handed Travis the file and the baseball. He did nothing except take the two items and place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Then he left.

Once the door closed, Alex looked back down at the open drawer. Below everything, between papers and a box of pens, was the letter. She hadn't given Travis the letter or the box. And she wasn't going to.

* * *

Travis quietly shut the door to Alex's office, giving her privacy. In his hand was the file, what they came for, and the baseball, what they hadn't been expecting. Which was an understatement in itself. Travis and Wes had not been expecting Ramon to be so keen towards Alex, and they certainly weren't expecting her to be so traumatized.

Looking over, Travis saw Wes, sitting in a nearby chair. His head was in his hands.

Wes hated when Alex got defensive. He hated when she wouldn't tell him what was going on with her, and she wouldn't let him help her. No matter how defensive she was, he still wanted to make sure she was all right _personally_. She hardly ever gave him that chance. _Why?_ Why wouldn't she give in?

On the flipside, he hated when _he _yelled at _her._ The walls they would spend time breaking down and growing closer will climb back up with a few hurtful words and lots of misplaced anger. Instead, walls were being built _between _them, pushing them further apart than ever.

And now he was making analogies. Damn those therapy sessions.

"Hey, man." Travis cleared his throat. Wes looked up, noticing the ball and file. Something flickered across Wes's face—envy, apprehension, or relief, Travis couldn't tell. He handed the file to Wes, who held it loosely in his hands. He almost felt like it wasn't worth it—like the argument could have been saved if he hadn't been so edgy. Which, of course, was true. Wes supposed both he and Alex were on edge, especially today. Especially now that Wes knew what Alex was going through.

Or so he thought.

"Let's get back to work."

* * *

Travis was trying to get Wes to smile. He hadn't all afternoon. Travis _assumed _he knew why, but with Wes, he could never tell.

So Travis tried to make Wes smile.

He had failed thus far.

"Travis, look at this." Wes spoke suddenly, his voice lined with worry. Travis looked up from his own papers, relieved that he didn't have to look at the same three sentences over and over anymore.

"What's up?"

"There's nothing in here about Ramon's recent purchases. No receipts, nothing. The last receipt is from May third, when he went to the grocery store."

"And got…?"

"Bread." Wes rolled his eyes. "That's hardly relevant."

"Just making sure." Travis held his hands up in mock surrender.

"There's no evidence that he went to a baseball game the night of June fifth." Wes continued. "On paper, anyway."

"But you can't get into the stadium without a ticket, so that was 'on paper'." Travis returned.

"What if he has season tickets?" Wes tried.

"Then he wouldn't have had to pay for the ticket."

"Whatever." Wes sighed, running his hands down his face. After a brief silence, he looked back up. "What do you have on Wanda?"

"Glad you asked," Travis smiled. "I located her family."

"Where?"

"Miami." Travis answered. "Florida."

"I know where Miami is."

"Just making sure."

"So where does this lead us?" Wes ignored the quip.

"We're going to Florida, man!" Travis beamed. "What up, three-oh-five?"

Wes stared at his partner.

"It's the area code…live a little, man." Travis rolled his eyes.

"I do live." Wes protested.

"Barely." Travis scoffed.

"Try 'rationally'." Wes corrected.

"Okay. Live _irrationally_."

"We don't even know if we're going to Florida-"

"-three-oh-five-"

"-yet, man. Don't get your hopes up." Wes explained. "You know the captain's going to want to keep us here."

"Why?"

"Well we have this thing called 'therapy'-" Wes stopped himself suddenly. "On second thought, let's go ask him right now."

"All right!" Travis cheered. "_Now_ you're talking!"

As if on cue, Captain Sutton strolled into the office, a fresh cup of coffee in his hands. Travis and Wes raised their eyebrows at each other. _How convenient. _

"Oh, Captain Sutton?" Travis called. Sutton turned around, staring at the two detectives dully. "Dear, dear, wonderful Captain Sutton, have you lost weight?"

"Wes, what does he want?" Sutton barked. Travis's jaw hung open.

"We think we know where Wanda might be, sir." Wes answered.

"You _think _or you know?"

"We…we have a pretty good idea, Cap." Wes answered. Travis nodded.

"All right, I'm intrigued. Where is it that you two obviously want to go to?"

"Florida." Wes answered.

"Miami." Travis added.

"_Miami?_" Sutton exclaimed. "That's fifty hours away from here!"

"Actually, sir," Travis scrolled through Google Maps. "In current traffic, Miami is forty-three hours away."

"Yes, thank you, Travis."

"Two thousand seven hundred and thirty-three miles, sir."

"Road trip!" Wes grinned.

"You're not actually consider-"

"Of course not, sir. We'll take a plane." Wes reassured him quickly.

Sutton sighed, taking a long sip of coffee. He wanted time to think of his options. Sending his two best detectives away for an undisclosed amount of time seemed risky, but he knew he could rely on the two to get the job done. However, he could not rely on them to get along with each other on their trip.

"I…" Sutton took in a deep breath. "I'll have one of the techies set up two plane tickets for you boys. You'll be leaving sooner than later, so get packed. I'll phone you with later details."

Wes and Travis nodded, excited about the new adventure at hand. Wes stared down at the mysterious baseball in Travis's hand. There was one more thing he had to do before he left Los Angeles.


	11. Accelerated Rehabilitation

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter eleven

* * *

**A/n: **Just wanted to give props to KrisEaly for all the wonderful reviews!

**Accelerated Rehabilitation:** Also called AR. A program that gives persons charged with a crime or motor vehicle violation for the first time a second chance. The person is placed on probation for up to two years. If probation is completed satisfactorily, the charges are dismissed.

**Beta: **BrokenSky49

* * *

"_Wes! What are yo—why are you here?" _

_Alex was watering the flowers, and had seemed relaxed enough. She had changed into casual denim shorts and a fitting shirt. When she heard his footsteps, however, she had tensed up, almost immediately. She turned around to face him slowly, as if she were scared of who was on the other side. _

"_To say goodbye." Wes kept his hands in his pockets, his fingers wrapping around the item in his possession._

"_Goodbye?" _

"_Travis and I are going to Miami. We've discovered a lead on Wanda Caballo that we're going to look into." _

"_Oh." Alex had set down her watering can. Wes watched her, his eyes solely trained on her. For her. When would he see her again? He had no idea when he and Travis would return. He didn't know, even when he was back home in Los Angeles, if Alex would want to talk to him. It seemed like they lived in a pattern; one conversation resulted in fighting, the other ended with unmeasured moves forward, near touches and lots of mixed feelings. _

"_I wanted to give this back to you, before I left." Wes handed her what was in his pocket. It was the baseball. Alex stared at it, eyes wide. Wes could hear her breath hitch, her fingers frozen to her side. Before he could say anything, however, she jolted back to life, taking the ball from his outstretched hand. Their fingers brushed, his steady grasp relinquishing the ball to her faint hand. _

"_You're scared," he whispered, more of an observation than a statement. He instantly regretted it. _

"_I'm _fine_." Alex retorted, throwing the baseball in a basket nearby. Wes looked down, unsure of how to respond. _

"_Listen, uh," he cleared his throat. "If Ramon is…if he's still bothering you, I can get someone to look after you. I can have some officers guard the house at night or-"_

"_No, thank you." Alex interrupted. "I'll be fine." _

_Wes looked back at her, swallowing hard. He was not convinced of her confidence, and wouldn't be until Ramon was behind bars. By the looks of it, _that_ dream was far from reach. Still, it was obtainable. _

"_Good luck in Miami." Alex spoke, softer this time. "I hope, for your sake, that you find what you're looking for." She gently touched his arm. Wes looked at her hand, resting so comfortably on his skin, not squeezing, not poking, simply _resting._ Very slowly, his hand came up to touch hers. This time, she was the one to look. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. _

"_Be safe." Alex whispered. _

"_Same to you." Wes nodded. He could feel how close they were, he could feel her body heat radiating off of him, he could see the perspiration on her forehead from the blazing sun, he could smell that sweet hand soap she always used, he could hear he uneven breaths as she anticipated what was to come. _

_There was only one sense left. _

_Taste. _

_Alex's eyes had slipped shut. Was she giving in? Was that her way of saying 'yes'? His head dipped down ever so slowly, his eyebrows knit together in concentration. She stood perfectly still, waiting. Patient. For once, she was letting this happen. Whatever 'this' was. _

_His breaths rustled the fine hairs on her head, his lips brushed her nose. He was so close. Before his eyes slipped shut, he caught sight of the small item placed in a basket near Alex's feet. _

_The baseball. _

_That's why he was here. To say goodbye. To continue his investigation. He couldn't let this, this…_infatuation_ get in his way. Alex was special to him, he needed to keep her safe. Kissing her wouldn't help. _

_Wes pulled away, achingly slow, his hand fluttering to touch her cheek quickly, as if to tell her that he was done. That he had to leave. He didn't want to see the disappointment in Alex's face. He couldn't. _

_He turned around quickly and left._

* * *

"Wes," Travis nudged his sleeping partner. Wes's eyes opened, the memories of the day before still plaguing his mind. His head lay near a small window. He took in his surroundings.

He was not with Alex at her house; he was on a cramped plane.

With Travis.

What an awful trade.

"Wes."

Another nudge, another dose of reality. Wes sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What?" he asked gruffly.

"Whadya mean, 'what'?" Travis asked. "We're in Miami, man! We're in the three-"

"Don't say it." Wes held up a hand quickly. "Don't want to hear it."

"Suit yourself." Travis shrugged. "Some of us _appreciate_ culture."

"And _some _of us appreciate being able to walk." Wes pushed his partner.

"All right, all right, gimme a second, man." Travis unbuckled and got up, stretching. He was still blocking Wes's path. Sighing, he leaned back against the chair, waiting until Travis felt _comfortable _enough to move. Heaven forbid Travis not feel _comfortable._

When Travis was finally ready, the two walked off the plane and into the airport. This had been their second flight in the past twenty-four hours, as they had made a stop in Texas. The two partners were tired, and still had to book a hotel room for the night. There was a three hour difference varying from Los Angeles to Miami, so although it was only five in the evening in Miami, it felt like two in the afternoon.

Their luggage was on the second floor of the airport, and as the two men trudged up the stairs, Wes noticed that they were being followed.

A man, possibly in his early forties, with a strong build and short haircut was quickening his pace. His eyes were dark and piercing, his uniform proudly kempt and neat.

Uniform.

"A cop?" Wes spoke out loud. "Travis, wait."

"What?" Travis turned around, almost to the top of the stairwell. Then, he, too, noticed the policeman.

"Did the Miami PD know we were coming?" Wes wondered.

"Let's find out." Travis shrugged, suddenly waving at the uniformed officer.

"Travis!" Wes hissed, but it was too late. The policeman had noticed. He nodded at the two, and quickly headed up the stairs until he was close enough to speak to them.

"You're the two policemen from LA, I assume?" The policeman's voice was sharp and firm, as if he was hardly asking a question.

"Detective Mitchell and Detective Marks, sir." Wes and Travis showed the policeman their badges, and he showed them his.

"Captain Sutton told me you were coming," the policeman answered the silent question. "Can we talk about logistics once you get your luggage?"

"We'll meet you downstairs." Wes nodded, and he and Travis went off in search of their suitcases.


	12. Conviction

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter twelve

* * *

**Conviction:** To be found guilty of committing a crime.

**Beta: **BrokenSky49

* * *

"My name is Lieutenant Nick Stein; I'm with the Miami PD." The policeman from the airport helped Travis and Wes with their luggage, throwing it in the trunk of his police car. There was another policeman in the driver's seat. Although Travis could only see him from the back, he seemed shorter than Nick, possibly younger.

"Well, then, Lieutenant Stein, where are we going?" Wes asked, leaning on the outside of the automobile. Nick shut the trunk of the car.

"You're investigating Wanda Caballo's disappearance, are you not?" Nick asked, crossing his arms over his chest. With a few, lazy fingers, he gestured for his partner to start the car.

"Are you, as well?" Wes frowned.

"This is your case, we're not taking it from you, Detective Mitchell," Nick shook his head. "My partner suggested taking you to where Mr. Caballo was raised."

"Ramon?" Travis interjected.

"Correct." Nick Stein. "You see, the Caballo family live in bunched together houses, almost as if they are all connected. Don't ask me why," he laughed, "but I have a feeling that it's the mother's doing. She may seem harmless enough, but I've been here long enough to know that it's always the person you least suspect."

"_Cliché."_ Travis coughed into his sleeve.

"We're ready when you are." Wes cleared his throat, stepping on Travis's foot imperatively.

"All right," Nick nodded. "Benjie's got the car started so we'll just head down. I can give you the address if-"

Nick suddenly jerked forward, grabbing at his shoulder. Travis and Wes glanced at each other in confusion. Nick took in a deep breath. When his hands fell to his sides, the LA policemen saw blood. Nick slipped to the ground. Seconds later, the lieutenant's young police partner ran out of the car.

"Nick! _Nick_!"

Wes stared at the scene in disbelief. What had happened? Had Nick been shot? Why hadn't he heard anything? It was like he was in a bubble, watching the rest of the world as they lived, unbeknownst of his presence.

"Nick, wake up, _amigo_, c'mon, Nick." Benjie held his partner's head up, ignoring the other two.

Travis was the first to escape the bubble. He bent down and knelt beside the young cop, whom he assumed was a rookie.

"Call an ambulance; we'll take care of your partner." Travis said, and Wes joined him, inspecting the wound on Nick's shoulder. The bullet was deep; whoever had been shooting had been accurate.

"But-"

"We're going to get him help, all right?" Wes nodded reassuringly at the young man. "Just call the paramedics. We can handle him."

The young rookie was in shock. His eyes were wide, his hands hurriedly reached for his phone, but he dropped it in his haste. He ran a hand through his thick head of hair, dark and wavy. His olive skin seemed almost identical to the tan depth of Lieutenant Nick Stein's arms. That might be the only thing he and Nick shared in common. This rookie was more brain than brawn, although some muscles were prominent. He seemed young, as well, possibly in his mid twenties. His gun did not look like it had ever been used. His uniform was far too crisp for a seasoned cop.

He rose to call 9-1-1.

"Hey," Travis looked up. "What's your name, kid?"

"B-Benjamin Dias." The cop stammered, his fingers gripping the phone so tightly that his hand was paling.

"All right, Benjamin," Travis whispered, smiling at him. "Let's get your partner some help."

Nick Stein was clearly unconscious, so it was easy for Wes to check for a pulse without much argument from the man. He appeared to be stable, which gave Wes time to look around for anyone with a gun.

Which pretty much knocked out everyone.

What Wes knew was this: someone had shot a cop, using a silencer, right before the cop was about to give up information concerning the whereabouts of Ramon Caballo's family.

Coincidence, Wes thought _not._

"Wes," Travis suddenly spoke, his voice hinting concern. "Look."

The first thing Wes noticed was the hair. Someone was running across the lot, their long, dark hair trailing behind them like the tail of a dress. A gun was strapped to her hip on a belt.

"Well, that's convenient." Wes scoffed, turning towards his partner.

Travis was already running.

"Hey!" Wes jumped up, hurrying after his partner.

Travis had a good lead on whoever this assassin was, his strong legs carrying him further away from Wes and closer towards her. Wes, however, was swift, and he weaved in and out of cars quicker than Travis, who burrowed right through them. Not long later, the two partners were caught up to one another.

"She's leaving the lot!" Travis called to Wes, who sped up.

"LAPD, put your hands up!" He yelled, to no avail.

"LAPD," Travis scoffed, making sure to keep the woman in view. "Does that really mean anything here?"

"_Police_, put your hands up!" Wes tried again, breathing heavily. The woman was on the other side of the lot now from where Lieutenant Nick and his partner were, and she had stopped. She was trying to find a place to run, but knew that she couldn't go anywhere else.

"We got her." Wes mumbled more to himself than to Travis.

"Yeah, but she's got the gu-"

A shot rang out, piercing through the evening life, carrying through the parked cars and conversing civilians. The woman was making herself known; she had removed the silencer trapping her gun. Travis pushed Wes down, and together they dove under the closest car. Wes's ears were ringing. The shot had been close, so close; it could have hit one of them. This woman, whoever she was, had good aim.

Another shot. This one much closer, so close Travis could actually see the bullet, but he stayed put, one hand on the ground, the other on the back of Wes's head, keeping his partner steady.

"Trav-"

"Stay right where you are." Travis was not speaking to Wes now, but to the woman. "We just want to talk to you. No harm, no foul."

Of course there was harm, and much foul—a policeman had been _shot,_ Wes wanted to shout, but he realized that Travis was just trying to calm the woman down. If anyone could do that, it would be Travis. Wes sat up, leaning against the car, breathing heavily.

"That's right," Travis's voice was gentle. "Put down the gun. Show us who you are."


	13. Court Trial

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter thirteen

* * *

**Court Trial:** Trial by a judge, rather than by a jury.

**Beta: ** BrokenSky49

* * *

The woman had begun to cry. This sleek, agile, fixation was breaking down. Her long, shiny, black hair fell forward in her face, her gun clattered to the ground.

Travis instantly let his guard down, his shoulders relaxing.

"Wes, you all right?" he asked, glancing quickly behind him before turning back around.

"Sure, except you smashed my face into the ground. I think you broke my nose." Wes muttered, getting up slowly.

"You're never grateful, are you?" Travis shook his head, edging closer to the shooter. In a matter of seconds, the two partners were crouching next to the sobbing woman.

"Who are you?" Wes asked softly, taking her gun from the warm cement ground. He could hear the sound of an ambulance in the distance and the whirl of a police car. Help was on the way.

Travis reached out, gently pushing away lengthy strands of hair from the woman's face until the partners could get a good look at whoever this lady was.

"Annalisse," Wes let out a shocked breath. He should have known, he mentally scolded himself. How could he not have known? Hair as long as this? Had to be Annalisse. He looked over at Travis, who seemed just as stumped, his hand frozen.

"We've met," she whispered, wiping her eyes. "I bet you weren't expecting this, huh?"

"M- Miss Lopez," Wes stammered, trying to act as professional as possible. "You're a long way from home."

"No." She shook her head. "I'm coming _back_ home. Uncle Ramon, when he left Miami, he took my mother and I with him. Now, I'm coming home."

"This is sure a way to show it." Travis muttered. "Why-"

"Why shoot the man who was about to help you?" Anna interrupted.

"Yes." Wes prodded. "Miss Lopez, did you shoot Lieutenant Stein on your own conscience?"

"Well of course not." She snapped, and then began to tremble. Wes looked down, she shook just like Alex had when she-

"Did Ramon Caballo force you to follow us?"

Silence.

Travis sent Wes a concerned glance. Wes supposed he agreed with his assumption. The two waited for Annalisse to speak, but she remained stubbornly silent.

"Miss Lopez," Wes tried again, his voice slightly strained. "I suggest you answer the question."

"I am done speaking." She answered promptly. "I am done with this gun. I am done with it all."

"Good." Travis, without hesitation, grabbed his handcuffs and placed them around her. "But, you do realize that you're being arrested for attempted murder."

Annalisse stayed put, tears staining her face, her eyes boring holes into Travis.

"Anything else you want to say?" Travis asked Wes.

"Nope." Wes shook his head. "Take her away."

"Gladly." Travis swept Anna off her feet, picking the frail woman up easily. She hardly put up a fight.

* * *

When the three returned to young Benjamin Dias, he was speaking with the paramedics tending to Nick. He seemed calmer, at least, finally acting like a cop, despite his heavy breathing.

As Travis, Wes, and Annalisse neared, something registered for Benjamin. He seemed to realize who the woman was. _This was the woman who shot my partner. _

"Detectives," he nodded, his voice steady. He realized that he was the only valid cop at the moment, that Wes and Travis were out of their jurisdiction. He was in charge. "I see your chase was successful."

"Annalisse Lopez has been arrested for the attempted murder of Lieutenant Stein." Wes informed Benjamin, who nodded, gesturing for Travis to set her down.

"She can't run far." Benjamin muttered, and when Travis finally let go, Benjamin took her into the police car. He quickly told her her rights, albeit stumbling on a few words, and shut her in the police car.

"We got you two a rental car, courtesy of the Miami PD. It was something Nick was working on before—well, before you guys showed up. A policeman was kind enough to drive it here." Benjamin handed the keys to Wes, to Travis's annoyance, before he fished his own keys out of his pocket. "If you two would follow me, we can talk things over at the police station."

"Sounds good." Wes nodded.

"Thanks, man." Travis called, already heading towards the car.

* * *

The Miami Police Department was certainly bigger than the headquarters in Los Angeles. As Wes pulled into Second Avenue, he slowed to take in the large building. It was a place where a criminal would get overwhelmed.

"Detectives, this is Dias. We've got some policemen here who will look after Miss Lopez until I can question her." Benjamin spoke through the radio. Wes and Travis glanced at each other before they both dove for the radio.

"Distr-"

"Don't say it, Travis!" Wes jerked the radio away from his partner. "This is Detective Mitchell, speaking."

"Go 'head."

"My partner and I were under the assumption that we would be questioning Miss Lopez."

The comment was followed by a short laugh, almost a scoff. The police car in front of them turned to park, and Wes followed suit.

"Detective Mitchell, all due respect, you're not in your jurisdiction. You don't have the right to question anyone-"

Wes turned off the car with a sigh, not wanting to hear any more. They flew all the way here, and now they were being denied the right to press on in their case? He and Travis looked at each other.

"We gotta question Anna." Travis spoke first. Wes nodded, leaning against the steering wheel for a moment before opening the door.

"C'mon." He threw the keys to Travis, who promptly locked their temporary car. Wes was not particularly a fan of driving cop cars (he preferred the more conspicuous route), but he supposed that he would have to settle this one time.

Looking up into the evening sky, Wes guessed that it had to be near seven at night, although it felt like four. He wasn't getting any sleep tonight, that was for sure.

"Better go in, huh?" Travis stuffed the keys into his jean pocket, raising his eyebrows slightly at Wes.

"And do what?" Wes sighed, rubbing a tired hand along his cheek. Maybe he would get some sleep.

"Ah, you know, man, we're here for something, or else they wouldn't have given us the car. Let's just see if we can get Annalisse to talk."

"All right, you can be the optimist." Wes muttered, and the two began their steady walk towards the Miami Police Headquarters.


	14. Contempt of Court

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter fourteen

* * *

**A/n:** I hope this isn't too confusing. I combined two smaller chapters into one.

**Contempt of Court**: A finding that someone disobeyed a court order. Can also mean disrupting court, for example, by being loud or disrespectful in court.

**Beta: **BrokenSky49

* * *

"I'm glad you guys came, we've had these files sitting around the office for a while, now." Benjamin Dias spoke quickly to the two men once they entered the headquarters. The place was filled with desks and papers galore. Night was nearing, and many policemen had left for the night. Ben, Travis, and Wes basically had the place to themselves. He seemed to be nervous, still, although he spoke professionally enough. Ben would check his phone every so often, but Wes and Travis could not figure out why. Perhaps he was looking for updates on Nick Stein.

"Have you been investigating Mr. Caballo, or the disappearance of his wife?" Travis asked, picking at the paperwork. That was definitely more of Wes's expertise.

"Like Nick said, we did not know of Mrs. Caballo's disappearance, or even that Mr. Caballo was married." Ben explained. "Mr. Caballo has been suspected as a sexual predator for years now. Try as we might, the victims would not speak. They were silent. They only child to admit anything was the girl in Los Angeles, Julia-"

"-Jessica-"

"-so you would know more of the assault than I would, unfortunately." Ben ignored, or did not hear, Travis's interruption.

"I don't understand, what would make Ramon move from Miami all the way to Los Angeles?" Wes asked, taking a seat so he could get a closer look at the thick file.

"Ah, I can help you with that." Ben smiled. "Mr. Caballo was raised here in Miami, as was Mrs. Caballo. They met, dated and were married all in Florida. A few years ago, however, Mr. Caballo was arrested and nearly sent to prison. That scare was enough to send him packing, and move as far away as possible from Florida."

"What was he arrested for?" Wes frowned.

"Child rape." Benjamin answered. Travis and Wes glanced at each other. Wes let out a long breath. Of course. Of course he was in Miami while Ramon was back home. Near Wes's wife.

Ex-wife.

_Mental wounds not healing,__who and what's to blame.__I'm going off the rails on a crazy train.__I'm going off the rails on a crazy train._

"Excuse me," Ben jumped up, his phone instantly in his hand at the sound of the ringtone. "I'll…I'll just be a moment." As he walked off, Travis and Wes stared at each other.

"_Crazy Train?"_ Wes mouthed.

"_Ozzy Osbourne?"_ Travis returned.

"Nick?" At the sound of Ben's voice, Travis and Wes turned their attention towards him, trying to listen, but not be noticed.

"Oh, oh, Mrs. Stein. Right. No, this is Ben—Benjie. Yeah. No, uh, I'm at the station right now, I…yes. Yes, she's here. She will be tried. I'm pretty worried, ma'am. I…no, no, I could have done more. I…it could have been different."

What was so amazing to Travis was how different Ben and Nick were from him and Wes. They genuinely seemed to care about each other, and they hardly fought. They were so in sync, albeit their age difference and obvious variations. They were true partners.

Travis and Wes would have squabbled over who fought the hardest; Ben and Nick just wanted to make sure their partner was safe. Travis and Wes would have argued over who got to drive; when they met Ben, he was already in the driver's seat, and Nick was okay with that.

Travis did care about Wes. He was his partner. They worked for a common cause.

And that common cause had sent them to couples therapy.

"Bye." Benjamin ended the phone conversation with Nick's wife, his own wedding ring glistening in the dim lights. It was late at night and most of the policemen had gone home to their families for the night. Ben thought about Nick, and he thought about his family. He needed to be there for them right now.

"All right, I think we should get to work examining these papers." Wes, however, had different plans. He glanced up at Benjamin, who had walked back towards the men. "How's Lieutenant Stein?"

"Stable." Ben answered, running a hand through his thick hair. "I think I'll probably check on him tonight."

"If you need to go, go." Travis said. "We can handle this part."

"Yeah, see, that's the problem." Ben sighed. "You don't have a warrant. So that means you can't investigate anything without me."

Wes and Travis looked at each other.

"We were just going to look at some files." Travis said. "We weren't going anywhere."

"But this isn't just your case, anymore. Nick and I are with you, now."

"I don't thi-"

"It's late, guys, and I know you want to get straight to work, but I'm telling you that the files will still be here in the morning." Ben checked his watch. Nine fifteen at night. "I've had some guys set up a hotel room for you two; it's about ten minutes from the department. I can take you there, if you'd like."

"Fine," Wes, disgruntled as he was, was not going to deny sleep. Even though it felt like it was time for dinner. "That's fine."

"There's a Hampton Inn that's close, so we usually set up visitors there, if that's all right. Your luggage is still in the back of our car, so I can get that for you." Ben rambled, sensing the men's frustration. "If you need anything else—well, I'll just right down my number."

Wes watched Ben, his eyes narrowing. Stuck in Miami with a rookie cop. Figures the experienced partner went down before Travis and Wes could even make it to the station. Stuck here while Alex fretted over Ramon Caballo. He hoped, for her sake, that Wanda was here. The sooner Wanda was found, the sooner he and Travis could close in on her wretched husband. Hopefully, then, some answers could be given.

Perhaps then, and only then, Ramon could finally be convicted.

* * *

Wes was lucky—the hotel manager gave them two room keys. He wasn't prepared to fight with Travis. A quiet drive to the hotel accompanied mixed feelings. Wes wanted to stay at the police department, he felt as if he could work for hours. However, he also knew that he wasn't adjusted to the time yet, and that Benjamin must be tired.

Rookie.

As the two partners took the stairs to their room on the second floor, silence seemed to follow them like a dark cloud. There really wasn't much to say. Wes had slipped the files into his briefcase, and he and Travis would look them over tonight. They didn't need sleep. Unlike Benjamin, they were from Los Angeles, single, and had lots of spare time.

They were going to make sure they knew everything about Ramon before attacking Wanda's case.

Wes slid his key card into the lock. Room twenty-nine stood in the far corner of the hall, as if to ward away passerbys. It was 'that room' that stood near the ice machine. Awkward and untouchable.

The door swung open easily, and as the two partners peered hesitantly into their room, they stared in shock at what they discovered.

One bed.

One lonely, full-sized bed.

"What a cliché." Travis was first to speak, but threw his suitcase on the springy bed anyhow, as if it were clearly his.

"Really?" Wes sighed, staring dimly at the furniture.

"Hey, man, I thought you would want to get to work." Travis held up his hands in mock surrender. "So, I figured I'll take the bed."

"Wow, who knew you were this nice?"

"Apparently not you, man." Wes watched as Travis inspected the vacant drawers and empty closest. There was a desk on the far side of the room. Wes supposed that was a good a place as any.

He set up camp on the small table, opening his briefcase and taking out his mass of files. He spread them out in front of him and turned on a dull lamp.

Time to get to work.

* * *

Ramon Caballo was a master at deception. He would allow the law to gain on him, and then, in his great race, would disappear. Just like that.

2006. Nearly convicted of stealing a car, when suddenly he disappeared.

2009. Miami. Child rape. Wasn't charged for that, either—he and his wife disappeared.

2012. Charges dropped on second child rape case. Ramon walked.

And Wanda, what was she to think? A husband with this sort of rap sheet? It would be difficult for any spouse to handle. Yes, she had to be running.

From Ramon or the LAPD?

Nobody seemed to be sure on even her whereabouts. The only clear description given on her was by Ramon himself—how trustworthy was that?

And Alex. Oh, back to Alex. How was she handling all this? Was she safe? Did she need help? Hopefully, Ramon had half a mind to leave her alone. Nobody was going to touch Alex.

Not without a personal visit by her former husband.


	15. Hung Jury

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter fifteen

* * *

**Hung Jury:** A jury whose members cannot reconcile their differences of opinion and thus cannot reach a verdict.

**Beta:** BrokenSky49

* * *

"Well it's a wonderful morning here in Miami; rounding around eight o'clock right now on this bright Saturday-"

Travis's hand found the alarm, and silenced the radio immediately. In fact, Travis unplugged the clock. He didn't want to hear anything else. He supposed it was pretty late. The sun was freely shining, he could hear muffled voices outside his door, and the birds had long since finished their early morning songs, and were off collecting food.

Whatever birds did.

Rolling over on his back, Travis let his hands fall on his face, closing his eyes for just a few more seconds. This was not just _any_ Saturday, he knew, he had work to do.

_All right, man, better get up before Wes hogs the bathroom. _

_Maybe just a few more seconds. _

_Okay, when Wes is awake, I'll beat him to the bathroom, that'll piss him off. _

Travis moaned, slowly but surely rising from the bed. Blindly reaching for his suitcase, he pulled out the first pair of jeans his hands found, and as he fished around for the rest of his clothes, he took note of how quiet it was in the room. Looking up, he finally saw Wes. He was passed out on the desk, his head resting on piles of paper.

He better not be drooling.

Travis considered throwing something at him, but decided against it. An angry Wes did not make a good day on the field. Instead, Travis played the role of 'good roommate', quietly tip-toeing to the bathroom.

He did not know why he was being so nice, why he was being the 'bigger guy', here. Wes would most definitely not do the same for him. Travis supposed that, growing up, he never had his own room, so sharing with Wes was probably a bigger deal for Wes than it was for him.

And then there was Alex.

Travis knew that this case would eventually take over Wes's conscience. When Wes found something to latch on to, he became _obsessed_. Clearly, he was still in love with Alex, and wasn't going to let just anyone tread over her.

Perhaps that wasn't the right analogy.

Since when did Travis get so cautious? It was almost like he was looking _out_ for Wes.

_Look, we were nearly shot yesterday. I think it's safe to say that we dodged a bullet. Literally. Actually, we dodged three or four bullets. _

As he inspected the small bathroom, Travis found his toothbrush and toothpaste had been moved from their place at the sink where he had discarded them. Instead, they had been placed in a Ziploc bag, and moved in a corner of the counter with the rest of Travis's things.

"Wes," Travis sighed loudly. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder came to mind. Wes was always moving his things into..._organized_ states. Filing his papers—oh, how Wes loved filing—color-coding his reports and, worst of all, organizing the food in the break room by _texture. _

Travis chucked his shoe at Wes. It bounced off his face and landed roughly on the ground.

So did Wes.

"Get up!" Travis exclaimed over Wes's loud cursing.

* * *

Wes couldn't decide who he was more pissed at—Travis, or himself.

When did he fall asleep? _Why _did he fall asleep? How many hours did he waste 'resting' when he could have been helping Alex? Too many, that was the answer. Who needed sleep, anyhow?

Well, besides Travis.

Travis was a different person entirely.

Maybe Wes was different.

Okay, they were both different.

He rubbed his jaw painfully where a particularly tough boot collided with his face. He didn't even want to look and see if there was a bruise. When he shaved, he felt the pain.

"Pussy." Travis muttered, coming into step next to them as they clambered down the stairs. Wes stopped long enough to send Travis a dirty look.

"You _hit _me."

"Just doing you a favor, man." Travis shrugged. "Gotta get up when the alarm does."

"Obviously, I didn't hear it."

"Obviously."

Wes was about to turn on Travis when the two partners noticed Benjamin Dias sitting on a chair by himself. He was dressed in his police uniform, head bent over his phone.

"Ah, our _ride_ is here." Wes spoke through gritted teeth. First of all, he had to be on the other side of the country with _Travis, _and now, he didn't even have a car. Wes _thought _that the Miami PD would loan them a cop car, but no such luck. They would be taking police 'taxis' the rest of their time here.

Which, Wes hoped, would not be long.

"Dias," Wes walked past Travis to greet Benjamin. The rookie looked up, surprised for a moment before recognizing the two detectives.

"Detective Marks, Mitchell." Benjamin nodded at the two of them. "Good morning."

"Morning." Wes returned the nod.

"How's Lieutenant Stein?" Travis asked, coming to stand slightly behind Wes. It was probably better for him to keep his distance at the moment.

"All right," Ben sighed. "He's stable. I…I haven't been able to see him yet."

"Feel free to see your partner while Travis and I investigate this case, Dias." Wes assured him. "We work better as a two-some, anyhow."

Travis hit Wes harshly on the arm.

"Nice try," Ben took the insult lightly, grinning. "Nick would want me with you guys. Besides, I know my way around Miami. I _did _grow up here, after all."

"Well, that's something you have in common with Ramon Caballo, then." Wes flashed a wicked smile at the young cop.

"Cool it, man!" Travis hissed. Whatever was bothering Wes this morning was definitely not helping the mood.

"Detective Mitchell," Benjamin's smile had faded. The look in his eyes made it seem as if he had been working as a cop for years, as if he had seen everything there was to see. Most of all, he was angry. "You can make fun of me because I'm new to the force, because I'm young, and because of my race, but do _not _compare me to someone like Ramon Caballo."

Wes was silent for a moment, biting his lip. He had went too far, he knew, but every second he spent arguing—with Travis or the MPD policemen, was another second Alex was in danger.

"All right, man." Wes sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't…I mean-"

"He's got a lot of pent-up anger," Travis cut in. "With himself, with me, with the way his marriage ended-" Wes sent Travis a dirty look "-well, maybe not that last one. You get the point, which is, you're not the one he's mad at. If we could move this along, however, I'm sure we could get a smile on his face." For emphasis, Travis gave Wes a toothy grin, frozen in that spot until Wes finally responded.

"Let's go." Wes brushed past the two snickering men and out the door.


	16. Magistrate

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter sixteen

* * *

**A/n: **Sorry for the delay. My Beta has been out of touch with me for quite some time, now, so I've decided to go ahead and post without a Beta. That being said, all mistakes are mine. During this chapter, Benjamin Dias takes the role of 'translator' when interviewing a member of the Caballo family. My Spanish has become a little rough, but hopefully this makes sense!

**Magistrate:** A person who is not a judge but who is authorized to hear and decide certain types of cases. For example, family support magistrates hear cases involving child support.

Wes supposed, for all the arguing he had done that morning, he deserved the back seat in some way. Travis and Benjamin Dias took the driver and passenger seat, as if they had rightfully earned the spots.

Which, Wes figured, _Ben _had.

But not Travis.

"Ramon Caballo returned to Miami not long ago, but was hardly seen by civilians and the law enforcement alike. However, Nick and I had reason to believe this 'Wanda' was with him." Ben explained what he knew of Ramon as they drove through a run-down neighborhood. Small houses lined up, one after the other.

"Is this where you think Wanda is?" Travis asked.

"No," Ben shook his head, pulling into a park outside a particularly condemned home. "This is where the Caballo family lives. All around here. Like some sort of monopoly. I suppose Ramon likes to keep his family in check."

"He keeps them _here_." Travis scoffed, turning to Wes. "This is worse than his sister's place."

"You visited Ramon's sister?" Ben asked.

"Yeah," Wes answered. "And his niece, Annalisse Lopez."

Benjamin raised his eyebrows at the two. Before he could ask, two dogs ran out the door, barking loudly and baring their teeth.

"Aw," Travis's attention drifted utterly on the dogs, a lop-sided grin emerging on his otherwise tired face. Wes rolled his eyes. Travis bent down to be level with the large dogs, patting the ground until one came over to him.

"Who's a good dog? Huh? You're a good dog, yes, you-"

"Travis!" Wes pushed Travis out of the way before the dog bit him.

"These dogs are trained." Ben informed them gravely. "Trained to kill. Someone obviously doesn't want us here."

"Trained to kill?" Wes stood up again, brushing himself off. Travis followed suit. "Sounds a little melodramatic."

"If only." Benjamin sighed. Then, the three noticed her.

An elderly woman was picking tomatoes from a small garden, working diligently. It was obvious that she had noticed them as well. She was shaking and whispering to herself. Seconds later, she crossed her chest.

"Excuse me, ma'am." Benjamin stepped forward. "Can we speak with you for a moment?"

The woman looked up, frowning. She shook her head quickly.

"No?" Wes scoffed.

"No," Ben shook his head. "'No' as in she doesn't speak English." Benjamin then switched to his native Spanish; a language the woman knew how to speak. _"Perdone, señora, ¿podemos hablar con usted un momento?"_

The lady seemed to relax, as if she trusted Benjamin now, since he spoke her language. It was clear that the other two cops had no idea what was going on.

"_Mi nombre es Sofía Caballo."_

"Ask her her relation to Ramon." Wes muttered.

"Ten bucks she's his mother." Travis nudged Wes.

"You're on. She's the grandmother." Wes scoffed. Benjamin looked behind him at the two of them, slightly appalled. However, he did as he was told.

Cautiously, Ben stepped forward again. This time, Sofía did not back away, but stayed where she was.

"Mother." Sofía pointed to herself.

"Ramon's _mother_." Wes repeated, his hands in his pockets. He and Travis glanced at each other.

"Jackpot." Travis whispered, collecting his money promptly.

Benjamin asked when the last time Sofía saw Ramon was. As Sofía answered, Ben translated.

"I do not know; my son moved out a long time ago."

"Does he write?" Wes asked.

"_Es lo que escribe?" _

"_No."_

"No."

"I know what that means." Wes snapped.

"Ask if we can search the place." Travis suggested.

"Without a warrant?" Benjamin protested. "Not a chance. The Caballo family never fails to sue whenever they feel necessary. I would think that three strangers barging into their home would count as 'necessary'."

Before Travis or Wes could respond, Sofía was speaking again, this time asking Ben a question.

"Sofía wants to know if we'd like a drink." Benjamin translated slowly.

"Yes!" Travis answered immediately. "I can tell that you would be a good cook."

Although Sofía could not understand Travis, his bright smile and cheerful tone seemed to console her. Travis even helped Sofía up the stairs to her home. The two were inside in a matter of seconds.

"He's quite the people person," Ben noted.

"Yeah, and it pays off." Wes answered.

"What do you mean?"

"Can't you see what Travis has just done?" Wes explained. "He's given us an opportunity to check out this house. Either that or he's just thirsty." He paused. "He's probably just thirsty."

The inside of the house was hotter than the outside, Wes discovered. As Travis and Benjamin took a seat near the kitchen table, Wes paced behind them. He didn't know how Ben and Travis could remain so calm when he felt so on _edge._ He could sense how close they were to Ramon with Sofía; he was certain they could get something out of her.

The only air circulating through the old area was from an old, small ceiling fan. It moved sporadically, like it would fly away at any second.

Travis took a cup of tea from Sofía, but Benjamin and Wes declined. Wes supposed Ben wasn't thirsty. As for himself, he didn't particularly trust the woman who raised Ramon. They could have the same motives; they could be working for a common cause, she cou-

Wes saw Travis gag. Benjamin and Sofía were too busy conversing to notice, but Wes did. Travis gingerly set the cup of tea down, swallowing hard, but when Sofía looked his way he chugged down the entire beverage in one gulp. Pleased, Sofía poured him another glass.

"Ask about Nina Lopez." Wes said.

"_Nina López?" _Benjamin nodded and translated Sofía's response.

"_Ella es mi hija menor."_

"She is Sofía's youngest daughter." Benjamin said.

"So Annalisse is her granddaughter." Travis spoke through grimaces. Sofía poured him another glass of tea, to which Travis thanked her profusely.

The distractions gave Wes time to look around the house, right where he was standing. The house consisted of two stories (Wes saw a stairwell). There were two rooms on the downstairs floor. The kitchen, and what appeared to be some sort of family room. The bedrooms were probably upstairs, then.

The closet door was open to reveal coats. The pantry door was open to reveal canned food. The front door was open just in case the dogs wanted in. All the doors in the house appeared to be open.

Except one.

"What's with the _Harry Potter _door?" Wes spoke to himself. Indeed, the room was under the stairwell, cramped in a corner. It seemed so out of place to the rest of the house, almost like it had been placed there recently. Wes wasn't sure if the door led to anything, but he wanted to find out.

"I have to use the restroom." Wes announced. Travis stopped choking down the tea to look up at him, eyebrows raised. Benjamin, too, turned around. He obviously didn't want to translate that for Sofía. He gave Wes a pained look.

"Go on, man." Travis nudged Ben. "Duty calls."

"_¿Dónde está de ir al baño?"_ Clearing his throat, Benjamin turned back towards Sofía. She pointed vaguely towards the other side of the floor, giving Wes all the ammunition he needed. Wes immediately headed towards the closed door.

"_No!" _Sofía cried, and then began to speak in rapid Spanish. Benjamin could hardly follow, but spoke as hastily as Sofía was.

"Don't go in there. Bathroom is around the corner. Do not open that door; it is locked for a reason."

"What's in this room?" Wes asked, his hand still on the knob.

"_¿Qué hay en la habitación?" _

Sofía had since become very quiet. Her hand was resting on the tea pitcher in her hand, to which Travis was giving a pained look. When she spoke next, her voice was timid and soft.

"That door is locked for a reason, that's all I will say." Benjamin paused, listened to Sofía some more. "I think it is time the three of you leave."

Travis shot up immediately, knocking over his empty cup as he did. He looked incredibly relieved, Wes almost laughed.

"_Muchas gracias, Señora Caballo."_

Sofía nodded, her hands wringing together. Benjamin opened the door for Travis and Wes, waiting until they got outside to speak.

Once the three were close to their vehicle again, they looked at each other.

"That was the worst tea I've ever had in my life." Travis turned up his nose. "It tasted like some sort of mixture between mud and-"

"Why did you ask for it?" Wes threw up his hands.

"You can't say no to someone like that, man." Travis retorted.

"Someone like what?" Ben asked.

"You know, a sweet, old lady."

"Travis, there is nothing sweet about that lady." Wes responded. "She's definitely hiding something."

"Let's head back to the station, then," Ben decided, his hands on his hips. "I've got some pictures I think you guys will want to see."


	17. Finding

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter seventeen

* * *

**Finding:** The court's or jury's decision on issues of fact.

* * *

Los Angeles, California

"Ms. MacFarland, Miss Abel is here to see you." Alex's secretary poked her head into her office. It had been a few days since Alex's ex-husband, Wes Mitchell, and his police partner, Travis Marks, left town for a case. And they really _left town. _More like left the West Coast.

Since they had left, things for Alex had been remotely care-free. Ramon hadn't bothered her, or, at least, hadn't left any messages for her. But that didn't mean he left town, or wasn't around. That also didn't mean Alex was gaining any more sleep than the first night Ramon threatened her. Most nights she lay awake thinking about Wes, about how he was putting herself in danger for her, or how he was so adamant on protecting her, which she secretly enjoyed. Each day seemed to drag on longer and longer. Alex spent most of her lunch breaks sleeping. She wasn't eating the same as she used to, and it was noticeable.

Was this what Alex's life had become? She had lost her appetite, become paranoid, hardly slept, and now the only person in the whole world right now that she trusted completely was halfway across the country, armed with his bothersome partner and a few pieces of paper.

"Ms. MacFarland?"

"Y-yes, yes, she may come in." Alex jolted back to reality, shaking her head to clear the unwanted, pestering voices. She straightened out her desk and awaited her visitor.

When her secretary said 'Miss Abel', she really meant 'girl'. Jessica Abel stood before Alex, her chin trembling, her hands clutching a manila folder.

"Ms. MacFarland," the young girl took in a deep, staggering breath. "I want to reopen my case."

* * *

Miami, Florida

Nearing afternoon, the three policemen finally returned to the police station. They had picked up lunch, but Wes was too jumpy to eat. He wanted to get down to business.

"Pull up some chairs, guys." Ben informed them, reaching an area in the back of the large space with two desks. The other, Wes supposed, was for Nick. He stole his chair, while Travis carried a chair with him from the front of the room.

Wes and Travis took the left and right of Ben, who was reaching into his desk to find some files. To Travis's great pleasure, he found that Ben organized papers like him, which meant, not at all.

Scanning Benjamin's desk, Wes took in mostly an array of pictures and papers. A computer rested in the middle, but at the moment, it remained untouched. The first picture was of Nick and Ben. They were receiving some kind of award, wearing proud suits and standing tall. Even in the picture, Wes could see the influence Nick had on young Ben. Ben was shorter than the overpowering Nick, but he stood exactly as he did, his hands crossed behind his back exactly as Nick's hands. The picture captured Ben's fleeting eyes coming to look up at his mentor, who stared straight ahead.

The second, third, and fourth pictures were vacant of Nick. A wedding photo, a snapshot of a baby, and the last was of the happy family. Ben had his arm around a beautiful woman, and she leaned towards him. In their arms was a baby girl, with Ben's eyes and her mother's smile. Both of their wedding rings glinted, reflecting off the sunlight and their twinkling eyes.

Wes remembered when he wore a wedding ring. He remembered that he slept with it on. He hardly took it off, except when showering. It was a strong band, shiny and gold. Alex's name was carved on the inside. He remembered when his desk used to hold their wedding photo.

That picture was now in a box, with the rest of Wes's failed marriage.

And the ring.

He almost felt a little jealous of the last picture on Ben's desk. Ben and his wife looked so in love, so happy, so blissfully content. Wes tried to remember when he and Alex looked at each other like that, when they said 'I love you' whenever they got the chance, when their hands always seemed to find the other.

Before they fell into routine.

Before he became a cop.

And Ben's child, a wonderfully cheerful baby girl. What if he and Alex had-

No. No. _No. _Wes was _not _going there. Nope. Not going to happen. No way.

Boy or girl?

_Damn it, shut up, Wes. This is ridiculous. Eat your freaking sandwich. _

"You guys okay?" Benjamin suddenly asked.

Wes looked up, nodding vaguely. Frowning, he then turned towards Travis. His partner was cringing, his hands rubbing his temples. Trouble was, he wasn't hurt physically that Wes could tell.

"Yeah, I'm good." Travis took in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. "What were you saying?"

"Nick and I have collected some photos over the past few weeks of different members of the Caballo family and where they live…" Ben searched through some stray photographs. "Like Mrs. Caballo, right here. We have shots of her house."

"Let me see," Wes took the photos. "Are there any of that closet? The one we couldn't open?"

"Yeah, sure, let me check." Ben flipped through a binder. "Right here."

Wes took the flimsy paper, looking at the door curiously. Small, rectangular and white. The doorknob was rusted and looked jammed.

"Can you get this on the computer?" Wes asked.

"I can get a digital copy up, yeah." Ben set down the binder and rolled his chair closer to his computer. While Ben worked on getting the photo up, Wes glanced over at Travis. He was hunched over, staring at the photos in front of him as if he were in deep concentration. His arms were crossed across his chest, but Wes knew he wasn't cold. If anything, the police station was a little stuffy.

"All right," Ben had the picture up on his computer screen. "Here's the door."

Wes took hold of the mouse, zooming in towards the bottom of the door.

"Looks like there's no light on." he muttered, zooming out.

"Whoa, hold up." Travis suddenly spoke. "Can you zoom in on the doorknob?"

"Yeah," Wes did as Travis said, and the three examined the rusty knob.

"There's no lock." Ben said, pointing with his pen. "Looks like Ramon's mother lied about that."

"Yeah, but I think it's jammed or something." Travis responded unevenly. He took in a deep breath. He nervously picked at a photograph, but dropped it. Wes stared at him in confusion. Travis was _twitching. _

"Travis is right," Wes spoke, trying his best not to overreact to Travis's odd behavior. He was sure Travis was just hungry or something, although he hadn't touched his food. "When I tried to open the door this morning, it wouldn't budge."

"Well, you know what we have to do, then." Ben looked over at Wes.

"Get a warrant?" Wes suggested.

"Besides that."

"See who or what is inside that door."

"Exactly." Ben nodded. "I think your Wanda might be closer than we think."


	18. Court Clerk

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter eighteen

* * *

**Court Clerk:** The person who maintains the official court record of your case. The court clerks' office receives all court papers and assigns hearing dates.

* * *

Benjamin Dias had told the two police partners that they needed to visit Nick Stein in the hospital. A few years ago, apparently, Nick was involved in a case concerning Ramon, the case that sent Ramon out of Miami. Nick was somewhat of an expert on Ramon Caballo. Wes figured he and Travis were slowly becoming experts.

Benjamin Dias had also told them to meet at the hospital in two hours, which would give them time to have dinner. He would not be joining them, as he was going to surprise the family on his wife's birthday. They did not expect him to come home so early in the day.

It was surprising to Wes, how much the three policemen had worked that day. It was nearly five o'clock. What surprised him even more was how Travis had slowly drawn in on himself. And now, as Benjamin drove them to the Hampton Inn, Wes was finally letting himself worry.

Wes finally gave in to his gut feeling when he grabbed a photograph from Travis's hand. Travis didn't want to give it back, so Wes had suggested an arm wrestle. Travis _declined._ Wes grabbed his arm anyway, and that's when he noticed it. With his finger on Travis's wrist, he could feel his rapid pulse. His hand trembled under Wes's loose grasp. Travis was sweating, too. A lot. His hand was almost slippery to the touch.

Wes had given Travis a _look,_ one of those I-don't-want-to-act-concerned-but-what-the-hell-is-wrong looks. Travis just stared at Wes, his eyes wide and round, his pupils dilated.

Wes quickly ordered Benjamin to drive them to the hotel. No questions asked. Benjamin grabbed his gun, slipped it in its holster, and did as he was told.

Travis had _accepted_ the back seat, another indication to Wes that his partner wasn't feeling well. Besides the obvious, that was. Looking back, now, Wes could see that Travis had lain down, his hands over his head. Every so often his hands would twitch, as if he possessed some sort of tremor.

"Weak stomach?" Benjamin glanced at Wes as they pulled into the parking lot of the hotel.

"That's not a weak stomach." Wes shook his head gravely. "What the hell was in that _tea_?"

"Is he having some sort of allergic reaction?" Ben lowered his voice. "I mean-"

"No, that couldn't be it. Travis isn't allergic to anything." Wes retorted, opening the passenger-side door and getting out.

"All right, Travis, time to get up, buddy." Wes opened the back door, pulling his partner up into a sitting position. Instantly, he regretted it.

A shudder passed through the entirety of Travis, and he hunched over, shaking terribly.

"Travis," Wes laughed nervously. "We're so close to our hotel room, let's get moving. We've got to see Nick." He grabbed Travis by the hands and tried to yank him up.

"Why are you hurting me?" Travis's voice came out unnaturally thin and weak, his round eyes staring up at Wes.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me." Wes cursed, running his hands along his face. He glanced over at Benjamin helplessly.

"I don't know, Wes," Ben shrugged. "If I didn't know any better I'd say Travis was high or something."

"Th-that's ridiculous." Wes snapped. "Travis doesn't do that sort of stuff—_c'mon,_ Travis, get up."

Travis nodded vaguely, but couldn't stand for long. He quickly fell to the ground.

Wes stared at his partner. He was a heap in the road, in between a minivan and a cop car. Benjamin and Wes looked at each other before bending down towards Travis.

"Hey, Travis," Wes tried to muster enough courage to laugh. "C'mon, man, this isn't funny anymore. It's time to get up."

"M-my helmet." Travis whispered, reaching out into the air. There was nothing in front of him except for Benjamin.

"What do you mean?" Benjamin asked.

"G-give me my h-helmet, Kenny."

"Kenny? No, this is Ben, Travis."

"Travis, why do you need your helmet?" Wes asked, still crouched next to his partner.

"F-for my bike. Give me my helmet." Travis turned to look at him with his glassy eyes.

"What the hell is this, some sort of hallucination?" Wes looked towards Benjamin.

"That would be my guess. PCP, LSD…" Benjamin shrugged. "Something like that."

"Something like that, huh?" Wes laughed once, and then, in a fit of anger, slammed his hand down against the road. He should have _known _something like this would happen. Ramon was ruthless, first attacking his wife—_ex-wife_—and now his _partner_?

_No, Wes, don't make this about you. This is never about you. _

"Okay," Wes took in a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. Benjamin was still staring at him when his eyes slipped back open. "Let's just get Travis to our room, and then we'll decide what to do next. I…I still want to see Nick tonight, now more than ever."

"Yeah, of course." Ben nodded. "I can…meet you there if you'd like."

"Sure." Wes agreed, and then saw the way Ben's shoulders had slumped.

_Oh. His wife's birthday party. _

"You know, Ben, if you don't want to come, I'm sure I can find my way around. I-"

"Listen, if my suspicions are correct, then Ramon has attacked _both _of our partners. I'm not exactly sure how Travis got the drugs into his system, but I'm sure it was him. I've got to stick up for my partner, and you've got to stick up for Travis." Ben nodded. "I would do anything for my partner."

Wes looked down at Travis. He was shaking, one hand still reaching out towards nothing. Every so often he would inch forward, or try to push himself up, but would fall back down in a fit of exhaustion. He shook whenever Wes's hand strayed to close to him, or too far away from him.

"Me too," Wes whispered, hanging his head. "Anything."

"So let's get him upstairs, then." Ben smiled, leaning towards Travis. "Travis, are you listening?" he asked. He seemed very calm and in control, even when Wes felt like he would explode at any moment.

Travis stirred slightly, registering that he could hear Ben's voice, however far away it seemed.

"All right, Travis, we're going to help you stand up now, okay?"

"M-my helmet-"

"No, Travis. There's no helmet. There's no bike, here." Ben reassured him, placing his arm under Travis's arm. He motioned for Wes to take the other arm.

"Mom wa-"

"Your mother isn't here, Travis." Ben said. "Your mother and father aren't here."

"No, they wouldn't be." Wes shook his head as the two dragged the limp Travis across the lot. "Travis has been in and out of foster homes his whole life."

Benjamin stopped for a moment. "I didn't k-"

"It's all right." Wes interrupted. "He doesn't say anything unless he's...reminded."

"Do you two need help?" A young woman ran up to them. In fact, running was all she seemed to be doing. Her hair was in a ponytail and her tennis shoes looked worn. She was breathing as deeply as Travis had been, before his breaths became labored and strained.

"Please," Ben nodded gratefully. "Could you get the door?"

"Of course." She responded. "Is he all right?"

"Oh, he's fine." Wes shrugged casually. "He's having a _wild _afternoon."

"Oh." The woman frowned, but held the door open for the three cops. Benjamin thanked her. A few hotel clerks sent them startled looks, but didn't say much.

"What happened to Travis's biological parents?" Ben asked as the three trudged over to the elevator. Wes was more keen to taking the stairs, but figured that would be quite a hassle with his partner nearly on his back.

"I don't know." Wes shook his head. "I've never asked."

Ben was silent, pressing the button to take them to the second floor. Travis had begun to mutter to himself incoherently, but neither Ben nor Wes could figure out what he was saying.

"What?" Wes finally looked over at Ben. "Are you telling me that you know _everything _about your partner?"

Ben simply shrugged, which he found quite difficult to do at the present moment. Wes rolled his eyes; _just another way Ben and Nick beat out Travis and Wes. _

_Ding. _Wes, Travis, and Benjamin reached the second floor. For once, Wes regretted having the isolated room at the end of the hall. It was a long struggle to even get out of the elevator.

"Are you still-" Ben adjusted Travis in his arms, "-coming to the hospital tonight?"

Ben had basically thrown all of Travis's weight onto Wes, who nearly buckled under the pressure. He hoisted Travis higher however, and fished into his pocket for his room key as they neared the room.

"I planned to." Wes sighed. "But now, with Travis…" he paused. "Tell you what: I'll deal with Travis, and then I'll come to the hospital."

"Do you want me to go ahead of you, then?" Ben asked.

"Yeah," Wes nodded. "But, first, let's get Travis off our backs."

"Agreed." Ben laughed, and the two quickly shuffled into the hotel room.


	19. Affirmation

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter nineteen

* * *

**Affirmation: **Declaring something to be true under the penalty of perjury by a person who will not take an oath for religious or other reasons.

* * *

Wes let his head lean back as he soaked in the scorching-hot water pelting his face. He was done listening to Travis's random thoughts and watching him suffer. He was done having Benjamin Dias show how good of a partner he was, how good of a husband he was, and a father. He was done with the constant worrying about Alex, and the secrets behind a small, out-of-place door with the rusted doorknob.

He just wanted a shower.

Wes wasn't even sure if he was going to wash his hair. He didn't particularly need to, he supposed, he had showered that morning—albeit quickly—and washed his hair then. But he felt so…dirty, so exhausted that he just wanted to _cleanse _himself.

Grabbing a bar of soap, Wes let it run along his arm. The remnants of the ivory bar remained on him only for a moment before the water washed it away, clearing the palate.

"_My mom-" Travis spoke from where Ben and Wes had laid him. Wes was alone, now, with a man he did not know how to help. And not just any man; his partner. _

The soap traced up one leg, sending the hairs askew. The water washed away that, too.

"_It's just me, Travis."_

His chest, Wes's thin, fit chest got lots of soap.

"_Where…my dad…"_

Wes stopped, trying to figure out whether anything Travis had told him that night was true or not.

"_Where are they going? Why are they leaving?" _

Really, how was Travis to remember that time, how young was he? Wes craned his head so that the soap could run along the grooves of his neck. His eyes had since closed.

"_I don't know why your parents left you, Travis. I…I wish I could help you. Just tell me what's going on right now, man." _

Wes lifted his elbow, and he let his hand blindly guide the soap along the underside of his arm.

"_Where are we?"_

That was right around the time Wes thought Travis was gone for sure.

"_Florida. We're in Miami, Travis. On a case." Wes took in a deep breath, cringing. "We're in the three-oh-five."_

The soap dropped in a slippery mass. Wes's eyes popped open. Now _he _was the one breathing heavily.

Wes turned the shower off.

He didn't feel any better.

"Okay, man." Wes rubbed his face with a towel, poking his head outside the bathroom door. "You need the bathroom for anything? 'Cause I'm gonna head out." He finished buttoning a fresh shirt before glancing over at Travis.

He was out cold, sprawled out on the bed in a heap. His face was contorted in some sort of cringe, his hands holding on loosely to the bed sheets. His fingers flexed in different directions, adding to the incongruity. His mouth was clamped shut.

"Finally," Wes muttered. "He shuts up."

It seemed almost certain to Wes now that his assumption was correct. Travis had been drugged with some sort of hallucinogen. While Wes had been getting dressed, he could hear Travis moaning on about something else abstract, his breaths loud enough to fill the room. Travis had _really _been drugged. But how, and why?

All Wes knew was, whoever did drug Travis, was going to answer to his partner.

Shrugging on his jacket, Wes tossed Travis's shoes towards the wall so that he or Travis wouldn't trip over them later on. Wes didn't know how Travis could have a house so clean, yet a desk so messy.

Wes checked his watch (his last gift from his happy marriage) and saw how late it was becoming. He had to leave soon or Benjamin would head home. Which sounded a lot more appealing than spending the night with two straggled partners from California.

Perhaps he should write Travis a note, telling him where he is. But on what? There had to be some sort of-

Wes had a legal pad in his suitcase.

Rushing over, he unzipped the bothersome bag and pulled out the pad. There was a pen on the desk that he swiped before clicking it a few times. On, off, on.

_Travis. At hospital with Ben. Visiting Nick. Will find out who did this to you. Wes._

* * *

Taking a cab to the hospital, Wes tried to swallow the fact that he felt he was late. It was nearly seven thirty. He was supposed to be at the hospital by seven. Would Benjamin still be there, or would he find a dark room with a sleeping Nick Stein? Would it be rude of him to wake him anyway and demand to know Ramon's connections with drugs?

Walking through the busy hallways, now, Wes decided it didn't matter who or what was in his way, he needed to find out who drugged his partner.

Wes slowed his steps when he saw someone else walk into the hospital room he was headed, a glass of water in his hands. It was Ben. He could hear a woman's voice, along with Benjamin's. Wes moved up closer to hear what was going on.

"Rachel, haven't seen you in a while, how are you?" Ben spoke politely.

"I'm all right, thank you. Just worried about my _reckless _husband." Rachel, whom Wes now labeled as Nick's wife, answered with a soft sigh. A bellowing laugh followed, and not from Ben.

"C'mon, Rach, I'm fine. Look at me, fit as a fiddle! Besides, I've got Benjie here to look after me." That had to be Nick, Wes decided, no one else called Benjamin 'Benjie'.

"Well, I haven't done much." Ben sighed. "Mostly showing around the detectives."

"The detectives?" Rachel repeated.

"Yeah," Ben answered. "They're from LA; they're here on a case involving Ramon Caballo."

"And?" Nick asked. "How is the investigation so far, Benjie?"

"We…" Ben sighed. "We've got a few leads, but we've hit a road block."

"Like what?" Rachel and Nick spoke at once.

"I have reason to believe that one of the detectives was drugged tonight."

"Drugged!" Rachel exclaimed. Wes closed his eyes in defeat, leaning against the wall. Drugged was _exactly_ the right word.

"Do you have any idea who might have done such a thing?" Nick asked cautiously. Wes could hear the hesitation in Ben's breathing. Wes didn't want to wait for an answer.

When he walked in, Rachel was the first person to notice him. She frowned in confusion, turning towards her husband in question. As did Wes.

Nick was in a blue t-shirt, the Miami Police Department emblem blazing proudly on it. He had grown some stubble over the past few days in the hospital, and it made him seem older, more mature. Wes noticed the area in the shoulder where Nick had been shot. A bandage now lay in its place, thick and cushioning. Nick obviously wasn't going to move that arm unless he had to.

"Detective Mitchell," Nick greeted him like an old friend. "I remember you. Barely, but that's part of getting old, I guess."

"Or getting shot." Wes noted; going over to shake Nick's outstretched hand. "How are you doing, my man?"

"Peachy, Detective, don't you worry about me. Tell me, though, how is Detective Max doing?"

"Marks," Wes corrected, almost a little harshly. He took in a deep breath before continuing. "Detective Marks. He's…when I left, he was sleeping."

"But…" Nick looked at him knowingly.

"But," Wes inhaled sharply. "I'm not sure he's completely fine. Whatever he was drugged with, it was some sort of hallucinogen. And it worked."

"Did he say anything to you about-?"

"No, no." Wes sighed, not wanting to be lectured or prodded with questions. _He_ was the one wanting to ask questions. "He was talking about his parents the whole time. The parents that-" Wes paused. This was not his story to tell. "Anyway."

"This Ramon Caballo guy, I'm telling you, he's not one to be messed with." Nick said gravely.

"You don't have to tell me," Wes scoffed. "He's done enough damage already."

"When Detective Marks gets better, I want to hear from him. He may know more than we do."

"Don't tell me you're getting back into work, Nick!" Rachel cried, resting her hand on a weary cheek, the other on her hip.

Nick's eyes softened. "Baby," he said, "I've got to make sure you're safe. This is the only way I know how."

Wes stared at Nick. He felt the exact same way about his Alex.

"We visited Sofía Caballo this morning." Benjamin informed Nick, breaking the silence between the couple.

"Did you now, Benjie?" Nick shook his head. "That woman is a nut-job."

"According to my partner, she was a sweet, elderly lady." Wes muttered.

"Sure. Whatever Marks says, right?" Nick laughed. "She may seem innocent enough, but she's the one that made Ramon the man he is today, mark my words."

"How do you mean?" Wes asked softly. He was getting a sinking feeling in his gut.

"Don't ever accept anything from Sofía Caballo." Nick said simply. "You'll regret it."

Wes stared at Nick in shock. He couldn't move, no matter how hard he tried. The gifts Alex had been receiving, could Sofía play some sort of part in that? And Travis, how-

The tea.

Travis.

Wes was gone in a matter of seconds.


	20. Eminent Domain

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter twenty

* * *

**Eminent Domain:** The legal process by which private property is taken for public use without the consent of the owner.

* * *

Los Angeles, California

With a hesitant hand, Alex MacFarland picked up her phone. She held it to her ear, listening to the dial tone. She didn't know if he would answer, he was so busy, and so far away, but she needed to know if he was okay.

Alex's weariness had grown ever since she decided to reopen her case with Jessica Abel. Despite her instincts, Jessica had given Alex a new perspective on the case, and evidence Jessica had been unable to share before was finally being uncovered.

Two more rings, and Alex was starting to get worried.

"This is Travis Marks. Leave a message and I'll get back to you."

Beep.

"Travis, this is Alex. I…I was just calling to see how you and Wes were doing, and that…well, could you just tell Wes that I'm thinking about him. Okay, thanks. Bye."

Alex let her phone slip into her pocket as she rose from the couch; the same couch Wes had sat in only days before.

Wes. Why hadn't she called him instead of Travis? It seemed like the logical decision.

She knew exactly why. If she had called Wes, he would automatically think she was in danger, and pester her with questions until she finally gave in. And then, Ramon would be even angrier than he was before.

Alex had looked back at the letter Ramon had sent her immediately after the trial. He had threatened her, that if she reopened the case with Jessica, he would hurt the people she cared about.

She had already broken that rule.

Was Ramon after her now, or had he followed Wes and Travis to Miami? Alex couldn't be positive on anything at the moment, which really got down to her last nerve. She was so used to feeling sure of herself, on being correct and proving _other _people wrong. Now, all she seemed to be doing was proving _herself _wrong.

She glanced at the digital clock on the oven. She supposed that, at one point in the long night ahead, she would have to sleep. It had become a terrible task for her of late, as she either woke up with nightmares of lay away thinking, but she was trying her best. And for the first time in a long, exhausting year, Alex truly missed Wes's lanky body next to hers when she slept.

He would be subtle, that's how she liked it most times. While she pretended to sleep (as she was married, happy, and had nothing to worry about), he would reach over to her, his soft hands tracing the outline of her face, or her lips, or even running through her hair. She was certain that he knew she was awake, and even if he did, he would never say anything to her, and she wouldn't say anything to him.

Perhaps the silence had ruined their marriage.

"No, Alex, stop overanalyzing." Alex spoke to herself with a sigh. With slow, deliberate steps, she headed to her bedroom. Ever since Ramon had placed that box with the baseball on her bed, Alex had become hesitant to enter the room. One night, she slept on the couch.

Perhaps she was just being ridiculous.

_Yes, you're being ridiculous._

Pulling open her bedroom door, Alex slipped into the dark space.

* * *

Miami, Florida

Wes's key card wasn't fitting into the lock. His key _wasn't working. _How many times had he tried, now? How much more time did Travis have before-

The light turned green. The hotel room clicked open. With a great sigh of relief, Wes ran into the room.

His breath caught in his throat.

The covers on the bed were strewn, a lamp was knocked over, and Travis was nowhere to be found. Wes stood near the door, observing the disheveled state of his room in shock.

Travis was _gone. _

Wes _knew _he shouldn't have gone to the hospital. And why did he, to confirm what he already knew? How long would he-

The bathroom.

The door to the bathroom was closed.

"Travis," Wes whispered, hurrying over to the bathroom and pushing open the door with fervor.

A single piece of paper was taped to the mirror. That had to be from Travis. Maybe he finally took himself to the hospital. Maybe he realized that he had been drugged. Wes ripped the paper from the mirror, scanning it quickly, reading from a dim light above the mirror.

_Detective Mitchell, _

_I feel as if we haven't spoken in weeks, which is a shame. I quite liked out conversation earlier at the courtroom. Ah, that day feels like forever ago, doesn't it? I remember the time like it was only yesterday. It was my first time meeting the famous 'Mitchell and Marks'. _

_Famous for what, you may ask? Many say you numerous solved cases. Or, perhaps, it is the combination of your intriguing lawyer-turned-cop story with your rags-to-riches partner, Detective Marks. _

_Oh, that's right. Detective Marks. It seems your naïve friend realized his mistake too late. An unfortunate predicament, I must say, but, we can't all win. Trust me. _

_I sincerely hope you won't miss him incredibly so, Detective. I wouldn't be too discouraged. He wasn't much use to you, anyway._

_Of course, there is a way for you to see your partner again, but, for now, he's all boxed in. _

He hadn't left his name, but Wes recognized the parchment, and he recognized the cursive.

Ramon.

Wes looked down at the letter in his hand, and, very slowly, folded the paper, slipping it into the breast pocket of his suit. He then looked down at the counter, deliberately taking in every item that Travis had discarded. A toothbrush, deodorant, his razor. The bar of soap.

That soap that Wes had spent so long in the shower using, while Travis was in the other room, shaking from horrible visions and a pain he couldn't quite place. While Wes relaxed, Travis struggled to decipher the hallucinations from reality. While Wes spent unforgiving time ignoring his partner, his predicament, and the world, Travis slipped into unconsciousness. Wes wasn't even sure he woke up before he was-

Kidnapped. Travis was kidnapped.

Wes reached out, his fingers curling around the bar of soap tightly. Travis was kidnapped all because his own _partner_—the person who was _supposed_ to have his back—was too busy with his own life to bother with him.

And now, Wes had no idea where Travis was.

"_Damn it!"_ Wes screamed, throwing the soap against the wall as hard as he could.

The soap broke in two, hit the toilet, and broke again. Wes watched it fall, breathing heavily. His heart pounding. He had nothing to go on, he had no leads.

All Wes knew was that his partner was missing, and he would do everything in his power to get him back.

* * *

Los Angeles, California

_My dearest Alex, _

_You've made me quite angry. I told you not to press charges again. _

_Expect danger. _

_Don't close your eyes. _

_Keep this to yourself. I don't want you to bring your straggling ex back into the picture when he is doing so well chasing after Wanda. Besides, Detective Mitchell has another partner to worry about. _

_You should have listened to me. _


	21. Claim

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter twenty-one

* * *

**A/n:** All right, this chapter is a little different. It's from another perspective (i.e. not Travis or Wes). Thanks for sticking with me!

**Claim:** In civil cases, the statement of relief desired.

* * *

Miami, Florida

"She's so peaceful when she sleeps, isn't she?" Isabella Dias looked over at her husband, Benjamin. Together, they watched their young daughter as she lay in her crib, eyes closed. Isabella hugged her house robe closer to herself, for a slight breeze enthused throughout the house.

Benjamin placed his arm around his bride, holding her close. "I'm sorry about tonight," he whispered.

"You had work." Isabella answered, breaking free of his grasp and moving towards the closest, where she began to fold her daughter's clothes. Benjamin watched her, sighing.

"I wanted to come home tonight, I really did." He touched her hand softly. She stopped and looked up at him. She kept trying to hide her true feelings, but Ben could see right through to her heart.

"I know," she assured him, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. "I just," she pulled away. "I get worried when you come home late."

"Because of what happened to Nick?"

"Ben," Isabella looked down. "I know you try to act like Nick getting shot didn't affect you, but I know how much you look up to him. He's your hero, Ben. I mean, sometimes, I think you care more about him than me-"

"No, _no, _Bell, of course not." Ben pulled her close. "You know that's not true. He's like a father to me, that's all."

"Because you never knew your father?" Isabella whispered into his chest. Ben still wore his police uniform from work. He had returned until after Isabella had but their daughter to sleep, and was about to head to bed herself.

Benjamin did not answer, but placed a tender kiss on the top of his wife's head. His father was not someone he liked to talk about, and Isabella knew that.

"It's just…" Benjamin took in a deep breath. "One of the detectives I'm working with from LA, Detective Marks-"

"-the one who got sick?"

"Yes. He…well, his partner told me today that Detective Marks grew up in countless foster homes, and that he didn't know his parents were or anything about them. And I just…I just thought about how lucky I was to have my mother, for her to be there for me. And now, with Nick, and you, and our daughter…I'm just trying to be the best I can be for all of you."

"You are." Isabella pulled back so she could look at her husband. "You're perfect."

"Happy birthday, Bell." Benjamin pulled her in for a kiss. "I love you."

Insistent, loud knocking startled everyone in the room. Ben frowned, pulling back. Who would come at this late hour?

"Stay with Elise." Ben slipped his gun out of its holster.

"Babe, don't you think you might be overreacting-"

Ben didn't hear the rest of his wife's sentence; he was already out the door. He stood at the top of the stairs, trying to see who was at the door. He could only see a tall, lanky shadow.

The knocking started again, and this time it was more like pounding.

Ben cocked his gun and slowly headed downstairs. Step by step. When he finally reached the door, he paused. Would he let this person into the same house as his wife and baby girl? How was he supposed to answer the door without giving the visitor a glance at the house?

For once, Ben prayed for a ding-dong-ditch.

Ben counted to three, opened the door, and slipped out. Seconds later, he grabbed the dark figure by the collar and pushed them against the wall. A strong feeling of protection and adrenaline pulsed through his veins. No _way _was he going to let anyone near his family.

"I'm giving you ten seconds to tell me who you are and why you're here." He whispered. _"Go."_

"It's me! It's _Wes,_ Ben!"

"Wes!" Ben instantly let go, and the detective crumpled to the ground. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was trying to-"

"You can't just go around knocking on people's doors this late at _night,_ Detective!"

"Ben-"

"How did you even get here? Did you take a cab or-"

_"Listen_ to me!" Wes hissed. "I don't have time for this. Travis is gone."

"Gone," Ben repeated. 'Gone' could mean different things. Dead, kidnapped, on the nearest plane to Los Angeles…

"When I got back to my room, he was gone. I was alone." Wes, now that Ben got a good look at him through the dim street lamp ahead of them, saw how disheveled the man looked. He was frantic and panicking.

"Do you know where he could have gone? Did he leave some sort of note-?"

"Oh, yeah." Wes reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. "Recognize the paper?"

Ben looked at the parchment. It slightly crinkled and yellowing. He held it to his nose. It smelled like wood shavings, which was odd. Opening the letter, Ben observed the neat, cursive handwriting.

"Whoever wrote this-"

"What do you mean, 'whoever'?" Wes exclaimed. "This is Ramon's handwriting. Read the letter."

_Detective Mitchell, _

_I feel as if we haven't spoken in weeks, which is a shame. I quite liked out conversation earlier at the courtroom. Ah, that day feels like forever ago, doesn't it? I remember the time like it was only yesterday. It was my first time meeting the famous 'Mitchell and Marks'. _

_Famous for what, you may ask? Many say you numerous solved cases. Or, perhaps, it is the combination of your intriguing lawyer-turned-cop story with your rags-to-riches partner, Detective Marks. _

_Oh, that's right. Detective Marks. It seems your naïve friend realized his mistake too late. An unfortunate predicament, I must say, but, we can't all win. Trust me. _

_I sincerely hope you won't miss him incredibly so, Detective. I wouldn't be too discouraged. He wasn't much use to you, anyway._

_Of course, there is a way for you to see your partner again, but, for now, he's all boxed in. _

"What does that mean, 'he's all boxed in'?" Ben asked. "Some sort of casket, maybe?"

"_Don't_ say that." Wes looked pained. "Just…let's be open with our options, here."

"Sorry," Ben whispered, handing the letter back. "Are you sure this is Ramon?"

"Look, this is the second letter I have seen from Ramon, now. He _alway_s using this kind of paper, and he _always_ writes like this."

"Okay," Ben sighed. "Let's head down to the-"

"We don't have _time _to go the office, Ben!" Wes protested. "Travis could be hurt, we have to-"

"We can do far more at the office than we can just standing here, detective." Ben responded evenly.

Wes stared at him. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, his hands wringing together. In the end, Ben supposed, Wes agreed with him. He nodded weakly, his hands limp at his sides.

"All right." Ben said. "I'll be back out in a second, then. Stay here."


	22. Failure to Appear

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter twenty-two

* * *

**Failure to Appear:** In a civil case, failing to file an Appearance form. In a criminal case, failing to come to court for a scheduled hearing.

* * *

Silently, Ben's car slid into a parking space in the dark lot. In front of them was the police department, and, to Ben and Wes's surprise, a light was on.

"Damn it," Ben shook his head, taking the key out of the ignition and sliding out of the automobile. "People just don't know when they cross the line." His gun was instantly in his hand. Wes tried to ignore the insult. He had to admit, barging into Ben's house around eleven at night probably wasn't the best thing he could have done, especially because Ben wasn't just some single rookie. He had a family. And that family was currently waiting for Ben to come back home.

As soon as Travis was found.

"If someone was trying to break in, why would the lights be on?" Wes tried to disparage Ben's worry as the two headed towards the front door.

"Stupidity." Ben scoffed. "I've seen a lot of it."

Wes, again, ignored the dig. He waited until Ben was a few steps ahead of him before he began to walk again, just in case Ben decided to trip him or something immature that—

That Travis would do.

Wes tried to suppress the urge to break something and strode ahead of Ben, throwing the door open and striding in. No way was some police intruder was going to disrupt his desperate search for his partner.

"Miami PD put your hands-"

"LAPD put your hands up!" Wes interrupted, reaching into his pocket for his gun. Oh. He didn't have a gun.

"Whoever you are, I'm telling you to put your hands up where I can see them!" Ben continued, brushing past Wes with _his _gun. Wes watched dully as Ben moved towards the back of the building until he slipped into a door and was out of sight.

Seconds later, he was yelling.

"What the hell are you _doing _here, Nick?" Ben groaned, trying to take the gun from Nick's hands. Nick, dressed sharply in his police uniform, gently pushed his young partner aside, slipping his gun in its rightful holster.

"_Nick_, you should be at the hospital. Your shoulder has hardly had time to heal. You need to re-"

"I'm not resting until I know my wife can do the same safely." Nick snapped. Wes, from his seat in a nearby chair, could see how little Nick moved his injured arm. It was heavily bandaged.

"Nick-"

"Don't argue this with me, Benjie." Nick looked at the rookie sternly. "You would do the same for your family."

Ben looked down sheepishly. As did Wes. Another reminder of how he had removed Ben from his happy-family moment. Wes almost didn't care. Travis had been removed from reality, and Wes had little-to-no leads and where to find his partner.

"Detective Mitchell," Nick broke the lingering silence, acknowledging the out-of-state cop. "You and my partner just here to check on the lights?"

"We-"

"And Detective Marks, how is he?" Nick asked next. "Better I hope."

Wes's hands clenched into fists. He shook his head once. No, Travis was not _better. _

"Detective Marks is missing. Wes has reason to believe he was kidnapped from their hotel room while he was out." Ben filled in his veteran partner, who took the news in stride.

"Do you think that his disappearance is connected with the case?" he asked.

"It's possible." Ben nodded.

"It's probable." Wes spoke finally, reaching into his pocket for the letter that had been taped to the hotel mirror. One more letter written by the infamous Ramon. Same old parchment, same old penmanship. He silently handed the letter to Nick.

_Detective Mitchell, _

_I feel as if we haven't spoken in weeks, which is a shame. I quite liked out conversation earlier at the courtroom. Ah, that day feels like forever ago, doesn't it? I remember the time like it was only yesterday. It was my first time meeting the famous 'Mitchell and Marks'. _

_Famous for what, you may ask? Many say you numerous solved cases. Or, perhaps, it is the combination of your intriguing lawyer-turned-cop story with your rags-to-riches partner, Detective Marks. _

_Oh, that's right. Detective Marks. It seems your naïve friend realized his mistake too late. An unfortunate predicament, I must say, but, we can't all win. Trust me. _

_I sincerely hope you won't miss him incredibly so, Detective. I wouldn't be too discouraged. He wasn't much use to you, anyway._

_Of course, there is a way for you to see your partner again, but, for now, he's all boxed in. _

"This letter was taped to the mirror of the hotel bathroom Travis and I are staying in." Wes explained as Nick handed the letter to Ben. "Ramon has sent letters before; the handwriting and paper in this letter match the penmanship and stationery in his previous notes. All indicators point to Ramon."

"All right." Nick nodded slowly. "Let's expand on that. But first, I want to know how you came to investigate Ramon Caballo in the first place."

"Well," Wes cleared his throat. "I'm…I'm not _technically _investigating Ramon Caballo. Travis and I are looking into the kidnapping of his wife, Wanda. This 'thing' we have with Ramon…it's more personal than professional." Wes refused to refer to whatever he had against Ramon as a 'vendetta', as Captain Sutton had days before back in Los Angeles.

"How so?" Ben looked up, handing the letter back to Wes. Wes leaned his elbow on the desk next to him, rubbing his temples with a few tired fingers.

"Ramon was being tried for the rape of a child in LA. Travis…he was sort of related to the victim-"

"Sort of?"

"It's more of a-" Wes took in a long, defeated breath. "-mutual relation."

The Miami policemen stared at Wes. Wes fought the urge to explain, but carried on with the back-story. "So that's how he was connected. As for me, um, the lawyer representing the child and her family also happened to be my...former wife."

"Ah." Nick muttered, as if everything made sense, now.

"Anyway. Ramon was freed of all charges. Huge upset. After the case, I came to pick Travis up because we—we had a…meeting and Ramon was talking with Alex, my—well, yeah.

"I didn't really like the way he acted around her. I was suspicious. Turned out I had reason to be. Ramon took a special interest in Alex. He would send her letters and gifts and would threaten her. I don't know if he hurt her-" Wes stopped himself. "Anyway. Our boss put us on the case to investigate Wanda Caballo, which led us to Miami. Any way I can help Alex get rid of Ramon I will take. And not just for her. For everyone. Here and in LA. And wherever Travis is."

"These gifts," Nick spoke evenly. "What exactly did Ramon send your ex?"

"The only one I knew about—or found, actually—was just a baseball. It was in this small cardboard box…I didn't have time to inspect it-"

"We need that ball." Nick interrupted. "Do you have it?"

"The baseball?" Wes frowned. "It's back with Alex. I didn't think it could help find Wanda."

"Is there any way you can get it here for us to inspect?" Nick asked next, mulling over his options. "If there's any writing on the ball then-"

"That would take too long," Ben cut in. "Besides, our main priority right now is to find Travis."

"What if Nick is on to something?" Wes sat up. "What if there's something on the ball? Like…some sort of-"

"-inscription-"

"-right, some sort of clue that could lead us to Travis."

"According to you, Wes, the baseball was sent long before Travis disappeared." Ben responded. "C'mon, guys. We're not the Hardy Boys. I think we should send out an APB-"

"Call her." Nick spoke suddenly. "Call your ex."

"Call her?" Wes repeated. "C'mon, Nick, it's-" he checked his watch "-two in the morning where she is."

"Do you want to be chivalrous or do you want your partner back?" Nick snapped. "Now get on that call, or I'll do it myself."

Wes hesitated only slightly before reaching into his pocket. Anything that could lead to finding Travis was a chance he would take.


	23. Bail

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter twenty-three

* * *

**A/n:** This chapter bounces back between point of views, as to represent the long-distance phone call between Wes Mitchell and Alex MacFarland Mitchell.

**Bail**: Also called Bond. Money or property given to the court for the temporary release of a defendant, to ensure that the defendant will return to court.

* * *

Los Angeles, California

Alex screwed the cap to her bottle of nail polish back on; inspecting her handiwork through a dim lamp perched on the nightstand next to her. She couldn't decipher the time on her wristwatch lying on her desk—her last gift from Wes—but hours hardly mattered anymore. It's not like she was sleeping anymore. What she _was _doing every night was painting her nails. She looked up every new style and what color to paint on which finger and things that she wouldn't care about if she were sleeping.

Today, her toenails reaped the benefits of the paranoid insomniac, painted a glossy, pale peach. Propped on her pillow, she let the paint air-dry. In her other hand, she sipped a glass of red wine, her second of the night. On the floor next to her bed lay the half-full bottle. She had placed it there the night before, after a particularly horrible vision that awakened her with chills; she padded aimlessly through her house in soft socks before reaching the bottle.

The sudden buzzing of Alex's phone startled her. Jolting, her racing heart pressed against her ribcage, her eyes closing in fear. Who could it be? Had Ramon found her number? He had texted her before anonymously, but she was a lawyer. She mad assumptions. They were almost always right.

On the second jolt, Alex grabbed her shaking phone. _Wes Mitchell. _

The relief was so eminent with Alex, so fast and reassuring that she fell back against the headboard of her bed. She could cry. She honestly could _cry. _

"Wes," Alex held her phone to her ear, the screen pressed against her cheek. "Are you all right?"

* * *

Miami, Florida

When Wes heard his former wife's voice on the phone, he was almost a little startled. It had to be around two in the morning in LA, and here she was answering so quickly. Shouldn't she be asleep?

"Am I okay?" Wes repeated a little dumbly. His fingers tapped unknown rhythms along the cool desk in front of him. Policemen Nick Stein and his partner Ben Dias congregated further away from Wes, whispering to each other.

"Are you coming back soon?" Alex asked. Wes frowned again. Before she had almost kicked him out the door; she couldn't wait to be free from his tagalong mannerisms. However, now, something in her voice had changed. She seemed so different; Wes couldn't place what had differed.

"Alex, I don't have a lot of time. Do you still have that baseball Ramon sent you?"

* * *

Los Angeles, California

"Of course." Alex whispered after a slight hesitation. She was gripping her phone, now, swallowing the tell-tale lump arising in her throat. "Yes, I have it with me."

"Good." Wes answered, his voice tired. That's what struck Alex so odd about Wes during this call—he sounded so _tired. _Alex couldn't remember the last time Wes's voice had sounded like this, so stressed and exhausted.

"Wes-"

"Alex," he spoke at the same time at her. Alex immediately quieted. He had called her, after all. "Alex, I want you to look at the ball for me."

"Why?"

"I want to see if there's any writing on it."

"Why?" Alex still didn't understand, but she got up anyhow, teetering to keep her wet toenails free from her carpet.

"Dammit-" Wes paused suddenly, his voice silencing on the other end. Alex paused, her hand on the top drawer of her vanity, where the ball and the box hid.

"Alex," Wes took in a deep breath, slow and collecting. "I-I have to tell you something."

"Wes, what's the matter?" Alex spoke forcefully. "Are you hurt? Did _he_-"

"It's about Travis, Alex. He's gone. He was taken because I was too busy worrying about everybody _but _him _as usual _and I didn't—I wasn't there for him and now he's gone. So I _need _you to do this for me, Alex. I need you to see if there's any writing on that baseball. Please.

"Alex. C'mon, Alex. Tell me you see something.

"Alex?"

* * *

Miami, Florida

"Alex! Dammit! _Dammit, _Alex!" Wes's voice got louder with each word. He threw his phone as far as he could—it clattered against the nearby wall and fell with a discouraged _thud_. Seconds later, strong hands held him back as Wes aimed a kick at his abandoned chair.

"Wes! Calm down, man!" Benjamin Dias pushed Wes back down in the chair, speaking urgently. "Tell us what happened!"

"It's Ramon." Wes struggled to break free from the young cop's grasp. "He's got her. He's got my _wife_."

"What are you talking about, Detective? I thought we agreed that Ramon was here, in Miami." Nick argued, one arm moving adamantly while the other lay limp at his side. "How can he possibly be in two places at once?"

"O-one minute she was t-talking to me and the next minute the line went dead!" Wes was nearly screaming. "He's got her; we've got to track that call. We have to find out where she is, we have to-"

"Okay, we'll track the call." Nick reassured Wes. "Benjie, get on that call. Wes and I will work over here."

"Sure thing." Ben ran over to Nick's desk and started working on the computer. Nick rolled a chair up next to Wes. The two leaned against the desk. Wes was staring intensely at the dark wood of the desk. Nick took a glance at Wes. He saw how the LA detective's hands gripped the chair handles so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

Nick patted Wes's rigid shoulders reassuringly. It did nothing to console the man. "Wes," Nick whispered. "It's going to be fine. Ramon—he's full of empty threats, Detective, like I said. Your partner and your ex-wife will be fine. I promise you."

"How can you be so sure?" Wes finally spoke, his eyes still glued to the table.

Nick took in a deep breath, nodding to himself slowly. "Detective," he started. "I won't let this man get in the way of your life, just as much as I won't let him hurt those I care about."

"Your wife?" Wes looked up.

"And Benjie." Nick nodded. "You know, Rachel and I…we always wanted children, but we couldn't have any. So Benjie, he's one of our own. He's family."

"Detective," Ben spoke urgently. "Your phone."

Indeed, from across the room, a single light illuminated. His phone was on. Someone was calling.

"Alex," Wes whispered, pausing only to say her name before racing over to the other end of the room, where his phone shook with the incoming call. _Alex Mitchell._

* * *

Los Angeles, California

Alex couldn't speak over her sobs. Hot tears poured down her face, blinding her vision and staining her cheeks. She was trembling so much she had to lay down. She pressed one hand to her forehead while the other held her phone in place.

On the other line, if Wes hadn't hung up already, she heard nothing. No words. Perhaps uneven breathing or a few curses, but besides that, silence. Was he waiting for her to speak? She hoped not.

"I-I-I'm so sorry, Wes." She managed. Each inhale was edgy and scratched, each exhale quick as a blink. "I—I thought I saw someone…I d-dropped the phone."

"Alex."

Dear Lord, she was breaking down. She was drunk, sleep-deprived, over-worked, and paranoid. She knew one day that she would crack, but she didn't know it would be for an audience, if only by ear. If only her former husband. His voice was so reassuring to her, so comforting. So _familiar. _She wanted to tell him everything. The letters, the threats, everything. She didn't want to fight this battle alone anymore. The thought sent her in another fit of tears.

"Shit, Alex. Alex, I l-" Wes stopped speaking for a moment, and this time _he _was the one with the edgy breathing. Alex waited, hiccupping. Her chin trembled, her fingers shook. "I'm glad that you called," he finally resumed. His voice was steady and even. "We still need to talk."

The ball. He needed to see the ball.

"I-I checked, Wes." Alex sniffed. With a sigh, she wiped her eyes and turned on her lamp, picking up the ball again. "There's no writing on it."

* * *

Miami, Florida

Wes hung his head. Nothing. Another blown lead. Another minute Travis was in danger. He let his phone drop; let Alex wait a little longer for his response.

"Nothing." He looked over at Nick. "There's nothing on the ball."

"The hell there isn't." he growled, picking up Wes's phone. "Mrs. Mitchell, this is Lieutenant Stein with the Miami Police Department. Is there any way you can send us a picture of the baseball? I'd like to see it for myself, if you don't mind, ma'am."

Wes and Ben watched Nick as he spoke curtly into the phone. A few seconds later, he was staring at the screen, frowning.

"Benjie, I'm sending this picture to you. Get it on the computer."

"Sure." Ben plugged his phone into the computer using a cord, and when the picture was sent to him, he uploaded it onto the computer.

"Let me see my phone." Wes out his hands. He didn't like how Nick had talked with his ex-wife, especially since she seemed so fragile. Nick threw the phone back flippantly. He was focused on the computer screen.

Up came a picture of a baseball, resting on what Wes remembered as Alex's nightstand. A few stray bottles of nail polish squeezed into the picture. Wes noticed an outline of a drinking cup near the edge of the photo. Had Alex been drinking? If so, what?

"Detective, you still with us?" Nick looked down at him, masking his concern only slightly with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry." Wes shook his head. "Distracted. What's going on?"

"I said tell your ex to examine _this_." Nick pointed to a part of the baseball that Ben had zoomed in on. The leather had begun to peel back.

"You want Alex to _examine _it?" Wes repeated, reaching for his phone, to which Alex was on hold.

"No, I want her to pull it back." Nick rolled his eyes. "I want to see if there's any writing there."

"Why are you so stuck on this baseball?" Wes asked. Nick gave him a discouraging scowl.

"I've worked with Ramon before. He leaves clues, and expects you to find them. He _likes _being caught. It only strengthens his strategy further. So I'm telling you, Detective, with experience, that this baseball is our best bet. Understand?"

"Yeah." Wes sighed. "Sorry." He picked up his phone again. "Alex, did you hear that? Pull back the leather of the baseball."

"I heard." Alex's voice was returning to its normal authority once more. It felt good to hear her again.

"And?"

"The lieutenant was right." She answered. "There's an address."

"There's an address on the ball." Wes repeated. Ben immediately pulled out a pen and pad of paper. He nodded at Wes to continue.

"What does it say, Alex?" Wes asked, putting the phone on speaker for the other two cops to hear.

"It says: rats three. That's capital R.A.T.S. Three. Then it says, The Keyes Company, 2121 Southwest, Third Aven-"

"That's a warehouse, isn't it?" Nick interrupted.

"Yes." Ben nodded. "I know where that is."

"All right. We have our clue. Let's go." Nick grabbed the paper, ripping it from the pad and putting it in his pocket. "We'll take my truck."

Wes jolted up, grabbing his phone. "Alex," he breathed out. "Thank you so much. Keep safe. Please."

"Wes, wha-"

"We really have to go, Alex." Wes interrupted. "We'll talk later."

"Wes!" Ben called from the door.

"Later, okay?" Wes's hand twitched, holding loosely onto his phone, now off speaker.

"Later." Alex agreed. "Goodnight, Wes."

"Good morning, Alex." Wes smiled briefly before hanging up. He was out the door in a matter of seconds.


	24. Action

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter twenty-four

* * *

**A/n: **This next chapter and many after that will take place in Miami, Florida, but locations will be prominent if Alex or the detectives travel elsewhere.

**Action:** Also called a case or lawsuit. A civil judicial proceeding where one party sues another for a wrong done, or to protect a right or to prevent a wrong.

* * *

"R.A.T.S." Ben drummed each letter to the acronym on the dashboard of his partner's truck as they drove along the dark road. This warehouse, only six minutes away from the Miami Police Department, but the two local policemen knew that Wes was counting every second.

"Don't forget the 'three'," Nick muttered dully, flipping his turn signal on.

"What do you think Ramon is telling us?" Ben looked over at his partner.

"I don't know," Nick sighed. "Right now, we don't even know if Ramon is behind this…thing. Our main priority is to find Travis." Nick glanced at Wes through his mirror. The Los Angeles cop was hunched in his seat, his head in his hands. Sighing, Nick turned his attention back towards the road.

If Travis were here, Wes knew, he would be laughing. The fact that Wes could fit his long, lean, and limber body in the backseat of a truck would absolutely crack Travis up. He wouldn't let Wes live this moment down. But, of course, Travis wasn't here. He was gone, taken. Wes only had himself to blame.

It did not take long for the three men to find their way to the warehouse center. Nick's truck, old as it was, was quietly placed into park. There was a moment, when the truck was as still as the men, that an eerie silence masked the cops. Wes looked up, his hands rubbing his temples. Ben and Nick sat in the front seats, staring emphatically at the long line of warehouses ahead of them, illuminated dimly by sparse street lamps. There was a long task ahead for the men.

"Do you have another gun?" Wes's dull voice mulled over the peace.

Nick turned to look at Wes, his eyebrows raised.

"Do. You. Have. Another. Gun." Wes repeated slowly and deliberately.

Nick didn't say anything for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he reached into his pocket. "There," he handed Wes the weapon. "That's _my _gun."

Wes was out of the truck in a matter of seconds, the gun at his side, loaded and ready.

"So," Ben climbed out from the truck, his hands on his hips. "Which warehouse?"

"That," Nick shut the door to the driver's side of the truck. "Is a good question."

The warehouses were lined up, one after the other in unfamiliar, insensitive processions. Wes stared at the long streak of storage houses with a sense of despair. Travis could be anywhere, and that included places outside of this warehouse.

"Nick?" Ben started. "What-"

"Let's get to work." Nick went up to the first warehouse and began to bang on the door.

"Oh, that's a great idea!" Wes snapped. "Now, everyone will hear us?"

Nick stopped, turning slowly towards Wes. "What do you suggest, then, Detective Mitchell?"

"Well-"

Seconds later, Wes was yelling Travis's name, pounding on the door next to Nick.

"What warehouse is this, Benjie?" Nick called.

"Uh," the young policeman squinted to see the etched numbers on the door. "Twenty-four."

"Twenty-four," Nick frowned. "We're in the back."

Wes let his fist rest against the cool, metal door as he let his mind wander. There was something about his phone call with his ex-wife that was brought back to his attention.

"_What does it say, Alex?" Wes asked, putting the phone on speaker for the other two cops to hear. _

"_It says: rats three. That's capital R.A.T.S. Three. Then it says, The Keyes Company, 2121 Southwest, Third Aven-" _

"_That's a warehouse, isn't it?" Nick interrupted. _

"_Yes." Ben nodded. "I know where that is." _

"We're at the wrong end." Wes whispered, his hand falling limp at his side. "Rats three."

"Detective?" Nick glanced at Detective Mitchell, who had stepped back unsteadily from warehouse number twenty-four. "What is it?"

"I—I'm going to the front. You guys stay here and check these warehouses." Wes spoke unsteadily as he began to run, his mind running faster than his feet. Warehouse number three. That had to be it. Travis had to be there.

"_Why are you so stuck on this baseball?" Wes asked. Nick gave him a discouraging scowl. _

"_I've worked with Ramon before. He leaves clues, and expects you to find them. He likes being caught. It only strengthens his strategy further. So I'm telling you, Detective, with experience, that this baseball is our best bet. Understand?" _

Warehouse number twenty passed by quickly. Warehouse number seventeen followed quicker than Wes had expected. And warehouse number ten seemed just around the corner. Nine, eight, seven, six, five, four.

Three.

Warehouse number three loomed in front of Wes like an impending mountain, waiting to be climbed. Waiting to be conquered. Wes couldn't even break a lock without his partner's help. He wasn't going to be able to do this. He wasn't going to be able to find Travis in time to save him. Maybe it was too late already. Maybe Travis was just another pawn in Ramon's great game.

_Looking up into the evening sky, Wes guessed that it had to be near seven at night, although it felt like four. He wasn't getting any sleep tonight, that was for sure. _

"_Better go in, huh?" Travis stuffed the keys into his jean pocket, raising his eyebrows slightly at Wes. _

"_And do what?" Wes sighed, rubbing a tired hand along his cheek. Maybe he would get some sleep. _

"_Ah, you know, man, we're here for something, or else they wouldn't have given us the car. Let's just see if we can't get Annalisse to talk." _

"_All right, you can be the optimist." Wes muttered, and the two began their steady walk towards the Miami Police Headquarters. _

"Nick." Wes's voice was rough. "Ben! I think I found something." He waited, and listened. "I need help with this lock. Guys? Can you hear me?" Wes peered down the long line of warehouses.

He couldn't see Ben or Nick anymore.

Now he was really alone.


	25. Complaint

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter twenty-five

* * *

**Complaint**: A legal document that tells the court what you want, and is served with a summons on the defendant to begin the case.

* * *

"Nick." Wes's voice was rough. "Ben. I think I found something."

"Did you hear that?" Ben whispered from the outside wall of warehouse number nineteen.

"That's Wes." Nick answered evenly. "He sounds pretty adamant."

"I need help with this lock. Guys? Can you hear me?"

"C'mon, Benjie, let's go." Nick picked up his pace, jogging past the vast storage containers—if they were anything else—and heading over to the front of the complex, where Wes was supposed to be.

And he was.

"Ben! Nick!" he was yelling their names, cursing, and then yelling some more. His hands ran through his short, blonde hair in a frazzled manner. "Ni-"

"Detective!" Nick hissed. "Over here!"

Wes's uptight guard fell, if only for a moment. His face contorted in a mix between relief, fear, and rage. Ben appeared, peering over Nick's shoulder as the two crouched low.

"Wh-what the hell are you guys doing?" Wes asked weakly.

"There was some traffic. We didn't want to be seen." Nick stood back up. "The yelling didn't really help, Detective."

"How-"

"Luckily, the driver was blasting Snoop Dog or what-"

"No." Ben interrupted, shaking his head. "No, Nick. Not Snoop Dog. I don't think Snoop Dog is even living anymore."

Nick didn't even answer his partner, pausing only once to shrug, as if to respond, _why the hell do I care? _

"Anyway." he turned back towards Wes. "Sorry to scare you."

"Scare me?" Wes scoffed, stuffing his shaking hands into his pockets. "No, no, nothing like that. I…you're my ride back to the hotel, so…"

"Understood." Nick almost smiled. "Now, what can we help you with?"

"The—uh, there's a deadbolt on the door." Wes nodded his head in the direction of the door.

"Really." Nick fished a flashlight out from his belt and turned it on. He walked up to the vast door and inspected the lock. "Yeah," he spoke to himself, hitting his flashlight against the lock. "I can get this."

"You can?"

"Benjie, fetch my toolbox, will you? It's in my truck." Nick ignored Wes. Ben's shoulders slumped as he thought of going all the way to the back of the complex again, but didn't argue with the veteran. He ran as quickly as he could. Nick waited until he was out of sight before he looked over at Wes.

"Why this warehouse?" he asked.

"What?" Wes had been thinking of other things. He blinked a few times and bit back a yawn. "S-sorry, what did you say?"

"Why did you pick this warehouse?" Nick repeated. "Number three."

"I was thinking about something Alex said earlier." Wes rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. "R.A.T.S. three. That was on the baseball, right? I'm not sure what R.A.T.S. means, but 'three' works. It could be a clue, just like you said."

"I can't imagine Ramon to be the type to store his things in a warehouse." Nick frowned. "He's not really the materialistic type."

"You can't always read people the way you think." Wes answered wisely. "I learned that the hard way."

"I'm impressed, Detective Mitchell." Nick laughed. "I almost mistook you for a lawyer. _Almost_."

"Really," Wes laughed as well. "Yeah, well, I married one. I think I know what I'm talking about."

"And I married an elementary teacher, so if we have to do any sudden subtraction tonight, I'm sure I can help." Nick joked. Wes smiled briefly before his eyes were pulled back to the warehouse, and the worry settled in him again. For Travis. For Alex. For anyone in the path of Ramon Caballo.

"You know, Detective, for someone who's divorced, you and your ex seem awfully close. It's different than what I usually see with the divorcees I know."

"How are divorced couples supposed to act?" Wes returned.

"Hey, I'm not trying to offend." Nick shrugged. "I'm just saying, you two seem very…_good _together."

"Is that a question or a statement?" Wes glanced over at the older cop. Nick was happily married, why did he care about what went wrong for Wes and Alex?

"Neither." Nick answered. "It was more of an observation."

_Nick took in a deep breath, nodding to himself slowly. "Detective," he started. "I won't let this man get in the way of your life, just as much as I won't let him hurt those I care about."_

"_Your wife?" Wes looked up. _

_Nick nodded. "You know, Rachel and I…we always wanted children, but we couldn't have any."_

Nick had told Wes about his marriage. Maybe, now, it was Wes's turn.

"I…I wasn't always a cop." Wes wasn't looking at Nick anymore. He stared at the grass further away from him as each blade rustled gently in the wind. He didn't know if Nick was even listening. "I worked with Alex. We were both attorneys. We were…happy.

"Uh," Wes scratched his head uncomfortably. "Something happened and—and I left my job and joined the police academy. Alex…she couldn't handle the stress of being a cop's wife. Really, who can blame her? Simple things turned into full-blown fights and that, in turn, fueled stupid arguments with Travis and the people I worked with, and, now, here I am. With no Alex, and no Travis, and no way out of Ramon Caballo's clutches."

"Wes-"

"Nick!" Ben ran up, breathing heavily. In his hands was the toolbox. It was old and small, but seemed adequate enough.

"Benjie, there you are." Nick smiled stiffly at his partner—one more thing he had that Wes did not—and took the toolbox from his outstretched arms. "Now we can get started on this lock."

Ben was worried about how much energy Nick was using to break that deadbolt. It had taken his partner some time to hammer the lock until it was limp, but then prying it open was an even more daunting task. Watching his partner's shoulder, Benjamin wondered how much Nick could take before he realized that he was still injured, and barely allowed out of the hospital. And even if he were allowed out of the hospital, it was a greater mystery still how Nick managed to pass his wife, Rachel, and her thorough inspection.

"All right," Nick let out a long breath. "Just one more…" his hammer connected with the lock. It broke in two. "That's good."

"Quick, Wes, the door." Ben made sure that Nick didn't have to exert himself any longer. He and the worried detective from LA grabbed the bottom of the large door.

"On three?" Wes looked over at Benjamin.

"On three." He agreed. "One. Two."

"Three." Wes finished, and the two pushed up. The door was raised slowly, creaking with displeasure at the sudden momentum.

"Here," Nick came up and helped hold the wall up. "Get in, Wes. Benjie and I will guard the outside."

"Aren't y-"

"This is your job, Detective." Nick interrupted. "Go on."

Wes swallowed, staring at the two men. "Give me your flashlight." he looked at Nick.

"Of course." Nick reached down for the light. Ben struggled under the weight of the door.

"_Nick!_" he gasped. Nick threw the flashlight and grabbed a hold of the door just before Ben's knees buckled.

"Damn." Nick grunted.

"Close the door." Wes suggested. "I'll knock when I need out."

"Sure." Nick gladly let go of the wall, grabbing his shoulder and cringing. Wes watched as Nick's young partner turned in concern to face Nick, and the wall fell with a loud _crash _to the ground once again.

For a brief, threatening moment, the entire space was dark. Wes stood in the dark room, waiting and listening. For a cry, for a ragged breath, for any sign of Travis. Wes closed his eyes. He could find anything here. He could find any_one_ here.

With a deep breath, Wes flipped his flashlight on. The light traveled slowly around the room, illuminating a certain object that seemed to repeat over and over again.

The warehouse was full of boxes.

Were they empty? Was Travis in one of them? Had Ramon hurt his partner?

With renewed fervor, Wes raced over to the first box he saw, tearing it down with an anguished cry and tearing it open.

Empty.

Wes ignored this and moved onto the next box, slightly larger.

Empty.

Empty.

Empty.

They were all vacant.

When Wes had worked his way down a good line of various-sized boxes, his fiery adrenaline was beginning to die down, and the deep, pessimistic doubt began to creep into his bones. Sweat beaded his temple, and he wiped it to the side. He was burning up.

"C'mon," he whispered, almost whining. He grabbed a small, hat box, striped and green, and kicked it as hard as he could. It flew far away from where he was and landed with a _clunk _against-

Against what?

Wes shone his flashlight towards the left corner of the room. Large boxes loomed before him, larger than any of the boxes he had been throwing around before. Were they refrigerator boxes? No, they were much bigger. Wes shrugged his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves.

Time to get to work.

The first box was huge, just like the others. It took a great effort for Wes to pull it down from atop three other boxes. He opened it quickly to reveal the bare interior of cardboard.

"Needle in a freaking haystack." Wes grumbled. He stood up resignedly and leaned against another large box, wiping his face with his bare arm. His jacket was further away in the large warehouse, but he had lost track of its whereabouts. He took a step forward.

Seconds later, he was on the ground. Cursing, he realized that he had tripped. He slammed Nick's flashlight on the ground in frustration. _Fine, Travis isn't here! I get it; I got the red herring, Ramon. My mistake. My freaking mistake._

Wes rolled onto his back, his head in his hands. This wild goose chase was useless. He would never find Travis.

No, he couldn't think like that. He had to know _something_. Ramon left clues, that's what Nick said. What wasn't Wes remembering?

The letter. Ramon's letter that was taped on the mirror.

_Detective Mitchell, _

_I feel as if we haven't spoken in weeks, which is a shame. I quite liked out conversation earlier at the courtroom. Ah, that day feels like forever ago, doesn't it? I remember the time like it was only yesterday. It was my first time meeting the famous 'Mitchell and Marks'. _

_Famous for what, you may ask? Many say you numerous solved cases. Or, perhaps, it is the combination of your intriguing lawyer-turned-cop story with your rags-to-riches partner, Detective Marks. _

_Oh, that's right. Detective Marks. It seems your naïve friend realized his mistake too late. An unfortunate predicament, I must say, but, we can't all win. Trust me. _

_I sincerely hope you won't miss him incredibly so, Detective. I wouldn't be too discouraged. He wasn't much use to you, anyway._

_Of course, there is a way for you to see your partner again, but, for now, he's all boxed in. _

"All boxed in." Wes mumbled to himself. He had been right after all. Travis _had _to be here. Wes rolled over on his side and grabbed the largest box he could find, right in front of him. It fell down with a loud _thud. _

A very loud _thud. _

A heavy thud.

"No." Wes moaned, reaching blindly for Nick's flashlight, the only speck of luminosity in the entire warehouse. He placed the butt of the light in his mouth and reached towards the box's flaps. Taking a deep breath, Wes peeled away the cardboard until he could see what was inside the box.

"No. No, no, no. Not him."


	26. Moving Party

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter twenty-six

* * *

**Moving Party:** The person making the request to the court in a case.

* * *

Under better circumstances, Wes would have been overjoyed to see his partner. He would have hidden his glee, of course, and tried to find some way to remain calm, but right now he couldn't do anything. He couldn't even speak. He couldn't call the help Travis needed.

Wes was unaware of anything going on around him; all he could stare at was his colleague. Travis was still and cold to the touch, stuffed in a large, cardboard box like he was some sort of package, like he was worthless.

Wes should have known. He should have guessed that something like this would have happened. That the two of them would have to go so far away from home until they realized that they needed each other the most.

All of those therapy sessions, all of the times Dr. Ryan had spoken to them _personally_, all the times she had reached out to them, trying desperately to help work things out between the bickering two. Wes had brushed her aside time and time again; he had rolled his eyes at Travis's involvement with the other couples, and for what? To settle his raging conscience? To prove some sort of _point_? All the time in therapy when he could have been working a case or doing something productive, he was stuck with his partner and a group of unhappy men and women. He was just like them.

But Travis…no, Travis was different. He was happy; he had family and friends and women and everything Wes _didn't_. And now what? He's dragged to Miami on his partner's personal vendetta, where's he drugged and stuffed away like some sort of mummy. All while his supposed 'partner' tried his best to ignore him.

"D-don't do this, Travis." Wes whispered, reaching for his flashlight once more. He was still on the ground, as was his partner. The dark room seemed even bleaker, impending doom just around the corner. With shaking, pale hands, Wes tore at the cardboard surrounding his partner until Travis lay out in the open. Almost like he was sleeping.

Travis's leather jacket was missing, his olive tee covered in drying perspiration. His jeans were long and dark; his boots still seemed in place. Everything about Travis seemed normal, except that he wasn't moving.

"C'mon, get up, man. Just get _up_."

Wes wasn't handling this any longer. He wasn't going to keep moping around when he could—and _if _he could—help his partner. His hands found Travis's arm, and he quickly found the still beating pulse.

"He's alive." Wes swallowed hard, looking up towards the sky. "Thank You."

* * *

"We should go in there, Nick."

"When Detective Mitchell finds Travis, he'll holler." Nick answered evenly, leaning against the door and rubbing his shoulder. He couldn't wait to hear what his wife would say about his latest night as a policeman. Rachel never get tired of berating him, Nick almost smiled. She almost always had good reason, too.

"Yeah, but what if he got lost, or was hurt, or is too shocked to say anything, _or-_"

"All right, Benjie." Nick laughed. "If you want to go in, go ahead."

"I'm going." Benjamin answered quickly, grabbing a flashlight from Nick's toolbox. "You stay here and guard the door."

"Fat chance." Nick retorted. "I'm not letting you go alone."

* * *

At the sound of the door sliding up, something in Wes's mind clicked. All he could think about was how someone had gone after Travis, and they were coming back for more.

"Police, stop and put your hands up!" Wes yelled, his voice scratched and rough. "I have a gun!"

"Hey, now, calm down." the familiar voice returned.

"_No_, dammit!" Wes yelled. "Show yourself!"

"Detective," Nick walked slowly into view, his young partner a few steps behind. "It's just us."

"Lieutenant?" Wes faltered, his armed hand falling to his side.

"Detective, relax." Nick and his partner were near Wes in an instant. "We're not here to cause problems."

"Yeah," Wes nodded vaguely. "Sorry about that."

"Lord, have mercy." Ben whispered in horror. Wes turned to see the young cop crossing himself in front of Travis's body.

"Did you find Detective Marks here?" Nick asked, although he already knew the answer was 'yes'.

"He was in a box." Wes answered weakly. "He was stuffed in a large _box._ Like some sort of package, some sort of product."

"Don't get sentimental on me, Mitchell," Nick checked Travis's pulse. "Help me wake your partner up."

Wes bent down next to Nick Stein and began to slap Travis's hand. "C'mon, man, wake up." he begged.

"Harder." Nick whispered. "Hit his face."

"His face?"

"Like this." Nick slapped Travis across the face. His head whipped sideways. With a jolt and a startling gasp for air, Travis Marks awoke.

Travis's whole body was shaking. His heart had jumped into his mouth, it was beating so fast. Where was he? Why the hell was it so dark? Where did the hotel go? Was he still in Miami with Wes? There was a dull ache in the back of his head, like he had been hit with something, he just couldn't figure out what.

Blinking rapidly, Travis shied away from the bright flashlight. He tried to say something, but his mouth was a jumbled mess. He cleared his throat, but the act turned into an epidemic. Something clicked, and Travis was coughing in fits, unaware of anyone else around him. Someone was patting him on the back, someone with large hands and rough pats. Nick Stein. He was still in Miami.

A particularly painful cough sent Travis on his stomach. He pressed his forehead to the cool, concrete ground, closing his eyes and breathing in slowly.

Another hand touched his shoulder. A gentle hand, soft and strong all at the same time. Travis looked up.

"Welcome back." Benjamin Dias smiled softly. "Let's get you sitting up."

It took both Ben and his partner to push Travis up against a pile of boxes, and even then the act was exhausting for all three of the men. Nick handed Travis a flashlight, and he was able to get a look at his surroundings. He had no idea where he was. No idea at all.

His flashlight stopped at Wes. His partner. His…yeah, his friend.

"Miss me?" Travis finally spoke, his voice cracked and weak.

"You were so cold." Wes whispered.

Travis frowned in response, he didn't understand.

"When I found you…you were so cold." Wes explained, running a hand along his face.

"That's because it's fifty freaking degrees in here, man." Travis chuckled softly. Wes almost returned the smile, but opted for moaning instead. He put his head in his hands, staying like that until his shoulders started to shake, until his breaths became ragged.

Gulping, Travis leaned against the wall. Was his partner actually _crying?_ Was this even possible? He wanted to say something, he really did, but he had no idea what he would say. He had no idea what had even happened to him.

Before anyone could say anything, Wes looked back up. His eyes were dry.

"Can you stand?" he asked his partner. The smile faded on Travis's face. For once, Travis did not believe in himself. But the look on his partner's face—what would Wes say when his partner couldn't even walk?

"Yeah," Travis muttered. "Everyone can stand."

Wes ignored the quip and stood, waiting for his partner to do the same. Travis stared at the Miami policemen as they, too, rose to their feet. Nick handed his flashlight to Ben, as if he were ready to catch Travis at any moment.

"How's the shoulder, man?" Travis asked.

The three men looked surprised. "Fine," Nick nodded hesitantly. "But we're not talking about me, here."

"Right." Travis grumbled. He looked around for something to hold on to. A large box helped him push up and into a standing position. His bones creaked. His muscles screamed. How long had Travis been in this warehouse? It was like he hadn't moved in days. He leaned heavily against the box, his only comfort in the dark room.

"Good." Wes said quickly. He seemed to have regressed from that flicker of emotion Travis almost saw back to his normal, no-fun self. "Let's get going, then."

"Good to see you again, Travis." Benjamin Dias smiled at Travis, helping him to stand without the help of the box. Even the effort was exhausting. All Travis wanted was a soft bed. His back ached.

"Thanks, brother." Travis forced a smile. "Thanks for finding me."

"Thank your partner. He was the one who brought us here in the first place." Ben corrected. "I don't think I've ever seen someone so worried in my life."

Wes's pace slowed for almost a noticeable second, his ears perked.

"Ah." Travis nodded, clearing his throat. Wes's pace picked up once more. Shaking his head, Travis began to walk.

Damn. His foot. Travis cursed quickly, hobbling along after the other policemen. Something was poking him in the foot, something in his boot.

"H-hold up," he called. "Wait a bit."

"Are you okay?" Nick asked, stopping. Wes, too, turned around, eyebrows knit together.

"There's…something in my shoe." Travis muttered.

"For Pete's sake." Wes threw up his hands. All he wanted was for Travis to go to a hospital, get the care he needed and the man kept holding up the group. Travis, on the other hand, almost seemed to be enjoying himself. He looked up at Wes's complaint and almost grinned. He sat back down, and Wes could see the relief wash over his partner's face as he rested his legs.

Travis unlaced his boot and pulled it off, quickly checking the inside. "Gotta flashlight, my man?" he held his palm out to Ben, who slapped the item in his hand. Travis flipped it on and inspected the inside of his shoe.

Wes thought he was taking a painfully long time. No matter how much Travis brushed the thought aside, Wes could see him paling with every passing moment he wasn't in the hospital. Damn his arrogance.

"Yeah…" Travis spoke more to himself than the group, reaching into his shoot and pulling out a bent-up piece of paper. "Right here."

"It's probably a price tag." Wes muttered. "Let's go, I want you to get checked out by a doctor."

"Hold up, Wes." Something in Travis's voice kept Wes from walking out of the door. "It's a ticket."

"A ticket?" Wes nearly snapped. "Why do I care?"

"Because, man. It's a ticket to a Los Angeles Dodgers game." Travis looked up. "The same team you-know-who is a fan of."

"Ramon." Wes whispered, coming to kneel down next to his partner. "Let me see that."

"All yours, man."

"Travis, this can't be for Ramon." Wes inspected the ticket. "This is a child's ticket."

"What's the date of the ticket?" Nick asked.

Wes flipped the ticket over. "June fifth of this year."

"June fifth." Travis repeated.

"The night Wanda disappeared." Wes stood up, eyes widening. "This is from Ramon."


	27. Discovery

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter twenty-seven

* * *

**A/n:** Working this case and trying to mask the worry Wes has for his partner and his ex-wife are beginning to take their toll on him. This chapter Wes final breaks down, and, in essence, breaks through.

**Discovery:** A formal request by one party in a lawsuit to disclose information or facts known by other parties or witnesses.

* * *

"So, Lieutenant, how you been?" Travis struggled between putting his boot on and keeping up with the other policemen. Nick Stein straggled behind with him, his walk slow and carefree.

"You keep asking that, don't you?" Nick looked over and smiled.

"Yeah, well, my foster mom—one of them—always told me to keep myself second, you know?" Travis shrugged.

"Oh." Nick frowned at this new information, but did not prod. "Well, in that case, I'm just fine."

"Yeah…" Travis could sense Nick's awkwardness. That usually happened when Travis brought up his family, or lack thereof, in his matter.

"Anyway." Wes cleared his throat as the four reached an old, beat-up truck. He seemed to be finishing up an equally awkward conversation with Benjamin. "I'd like to stop by the hospital, just to make sure Travis is…uh, fit."

"Good idea." Ben nodded, sliding into the passenger seat. "Nick should be checked out as well."

"Whoa!" Travis held up his hands.

"Let's not get drastic, here, boys." Nick laughed uncomfortably. "Detective Marks and I are just fine. In fact, we were just talking about how _fine _we were."

"That's great." Wes rolled his eyes. "Tell me, Ben, what's the quickest way to the hospital?"

"Oh, you mean from the middle of nowhere?" Ben weighed his options. "That might take some calculations."

"Benjie, as your superior, I advise you _not_ to do this." Nick spoke very deliberately. It worked. Ben started to squirm in his seat.

"Wes, as your superi-"

"We're going to the hospital."

"No we're not."

"Oh, I know." Wes pulled out his phone from his pants pocket, waving it in front of Travis with a mischievous smile. "Let's use Google Maps. You like Google Maps, don't you, Travis? How many miles was it from LA to Miami, again?"

"I…I don't remember."

"What's that?"

"I don't remember and I _don't_ want to go to the hospital!" Travis snapped.

Wes was silent for a moment before taking the keys from Ben. "That's too bad," he muttered. "I need to know." he started the car.

"N-need to know what?" Travis started. "That I'm okay? Man, I'm all bent up in the back of this truck with Nick, who's bigger than I am. I've got to have _stamina_ for that, Wes. What is-?"

"It's the _drugs."_ Wes interrupted. "I want to know what you were drugged with."

"What are you talking about, man?" Travis sighed. "I wasn't drugged."

Wes's hands gripped the steering wheel. The truck began its steady drive out of the warehouse.

"Wes," Travis frowned. "I was drugged?"

Wes flipped on the turn signal.

"Go left." Nick spoke up. Wes obeyed.

"C'mon, man." Travis begged. "Tell me what happened."

"You want to know what happened?" Wes asked, his patience growing thin.

"Yes!"

"You were drugged, Travis, okay? You drank all of whatever Ramon's mother gave you and guess what—it was spiked! But you didn't notice, did you? You just kept asking for more. And then, you start to feel sick, so we take you back to the hotel and you start having freaking hallucinations."

"I-?"

"_Hallucinations, _Travis, do I need to spell it out for you? Visions. Acid trips. I don't care. We could hardly take you back to the hotel room because you couldn't even move. All you had to do was _tell _somebody that you thought Ramon's mom could have spiked your drink, and we could have avoided all of this."

"Wh-?"

"So then I'm stuck with a lunatic and all his screaming until you _finally _shut up. I leave you in the room for not even an _hour_. Not even an _hour_, Travis, and when I come back, you're gone. Ramon took you, I don't know how, but he did. He put you in a box and stuffed you away in a warehouse like some sort of product he was _selling. _So _I _had to find you, because, hey, you're my partner, and unlike me, you've got a whole freaking community of people who are anxiously awaiting your return to LA. And then we find you, and you're disoriented, and that's _my_ fault. Because you got kidnapped; that's my fault, too. And then, to make matters worse, Ramon leaves a clue. He puts this ticket in your shoe. And somehow, I don't know how, yet, but _somehow,_ that's my fault. A-"

"Take a left." Nick said. The truck swerved viciously.

"And then," Wes continued, his eyes trained so angrily on the road that his vision was blurring. "And _then_ you don't remember _anything_, do you, and that's my fault. It's my fault for bringing you here in the first place and putting you through this freaking cat-and-mouse chase I have because some big-shot Latino who is threatening my wife—_dammit_, ex-wife—and I can't do anything about it, Travis, I can't. I can't be _your_ partner and _her_ husband. So I guess that's why we divorced in the first place, because she didn't want to see me put in a position like you were.

"Right now she's back in LA, Travis, and I talked to her. She is so scared and I can't do_ anything_ about it. Nothing. All I can hope for is that we find Wanda, and somehow that will lead us to _him. _

"But there was a roadblock. Guess what, you were drugged. And I was…I was _worried_ about you and about her and about everyone else caught up in this freaking _train wreck_. Because, yeah, Dr. Ryan was right. Captain Sutton was right. Everyone was right. I. Can't. Do. This. Without. You. So, forgive me, Travis, freaking _forgive me _if I have the _audacity _to want to take you to the hospital and see if you're okay. B-because I can't control what's going on with Alex, no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I want to, but I _can _control what happens to my team. My partner. It doesn't all have to be my fault."

By the time Wes ran out of breath, he also ran out of things to say. Apparently, so had the others.

Wes hated the silence. He hated everything about the silence. Someone would break it.

"_Por favor, Dios ayuda a este hombre." _ Ben whispered softly, his quivering fingers coming up to cross himself. Wes considered punching the young cop.

"A right. Take the next right and you'll be there." Nick muttered from the back. Wes did as he was told, pulling into the Miami Police Department. At the sight of the large building, his shoulders slumped. He should have known better than to take directions from Nick, one of the men vying not to go to the hospital.

"We can perform drug tests here." Nick spoke after Wes put his truck into a resigned park.

"My wife is a registered nurse." Ben reassured Wes. "I texted her, and she came down."

Wes didn't say anything; he got out of the truck, threw the keys into Ben's lap, and walked away.

Nick thought it was safe to look over at the unnaturally quiet Travis Marks. His head rested against the small sliver of window, his hands pressed firmly together. His eyes were closed and his shoulders were hunched as much as Wes's were.

"You should have taken me to the hospital." Travis whispered, putting his head in his hands. He could feel Nick's gaze on him. "You should have listened to Wes."

"Let's find out what's in your system." Nick patted Travis knee.


	28. Seal

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter twenty-eight

* * *

**Seal**: A court order closing a case file from public review, usually in cases of youthful offenders and acquittal. Prevents the public from obtaining information on the cases.

* * *

Wes stood near the edge of the parking lot, his hands nervously dialing numbers on his phone. He had to talk to someone. He had to let go of his pent-up feelings. Someone who wasn't here. Someone at home in California.

"You've reached Alex MacFarland Mitchell, please leave a message."

_Damn._ That didn't work. Wes let out a long breath, pinching the top of his nose with two tired fingers. At least this meant that she was sleeping, that Alex was finally resting. Wes wished he could rest. He was so exhausted. He didn't want to spend another night at that hotel, sleeping in a rickety chair while Travis took the equally uncomfortable bed. He didn't want to be near Travis right now.

Frowning, Wes searched his phone contacts, scrolling through the short list, back and forth. Back and forth.

Dr. Ryan.

No way. Not her. He would not call her. He wasn't going to sit and talk about his _feelings _with a shrink, someone who was _trained_ to understand, trained to have no feelings.

"Damn." Wes rubbed his forehead, pressing the 'call' button anyway. He listened to the rings. Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Wes Mitchell," Dr. Ryan's voice never sounded so comforting to Wes. His knees buckled, and he shakily sat down on the warm pavement.

"Dr. Ryan. I'm…I'm sorry to call at this hour." Wes sighed. "Damn, it's got to be like three in the morning where you are."

"Four in the morning, actually." Dr. Ryan responded. "I make a habit of always answering my patient's calls."

"Oh." So he was her patient. And so was Travis, he remembered with little consolation.

"Also, if you must know, I happen to have a very sick cat at the moment."

"Oh." Wes said again. "Sorry."

"Thank you. Now, Wes, I don't think you just called to catch up on the welfare of my pet, did you?"

"Something happened."

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah—no. I don't matter. This is about Travis."

"Why don't you start from the beginning?"

"Uh," Wes let out a shaky breath. This was so unlike him, to talk about these sorts of things. Emotional things. Alex used to get so angry when he would come home from work angry and never say why. It worried and angered her beyond belief. "You know Travis and I working a case in Florida."

"Yes."

"And, uh, this person, the husband of the woman we're trying to find-"

"Mr. Caballo, yes."

"D-don't-" Wes closed his eyes. "You don't have to say his name."

"And why is that?"

"Why?" Wes scoffed. "He threatens my ex-wife and drugs my partner and somehow _I_ remain unharmed. W-?"

"Let's backtrack." Dr. Ryan spoke gently. "Travis was drugged?"

"Yeah." Wes cleared his throat. "Uh, he was drugged and kidnapped. All under my nose. We just found him."

"We?"

"We're working with other cops. Local cops."

"And how do you feel about them?"

"I don't know." Wes shrugged. "They're…different."

"How so?"

"They don't fight. At all. They're like father and son."

"Is this…strange, at all, to you?"

"Yes."

"Why is that?"

"You know why."

"Because they seem to be foils to you and Travis. They are opposites."

"I guess…I don't know."

"Is something else on your mind, Wes?" Dr. Ryan asked, her voice concerned.

"I lost it tonight."

"How so?"

"When we found Travis, I thought he was dead."

"You were mourning your friend."

"No, no, that wasn't it." Wes tried to control his patience. "I…it was after. I wanted him to go to the hospital, but he said no. He was trying to 'play it cool' or something, I don't know. I was just so _angry _that I-"

"You yelled at him."

"Yeah. With an audience."

"You said something your regret."

"Well, yeah. It's not that. We…we never do that, Travis and I. We don't yell like that."

"Argue?" Dr. Ryan almost scoffed. "Wes-"

"We never—_I _never yell like that. I mean, we argue, but it's usually back and forth stuff. This was just me. Travis didn't even say anything."

"Do you think, that if he were stronger, he would have quarreled with you?"

"I don't know, I wasn't even really arguing, I was more of just…letting go."

"You must be very worried, leaving your ex-wife on the other side of the country with no protection."

Wes groaned. He didn't want to be reminded of that fact. "I talked to her, tonight. Or, uh, yesterday."

"Really?"

"Yeah, she sounded bad."

"Was she upset?"

"Not at me. She just, she sounded so _weak_, you know? I hate it when she sounds like that."

"Because you can't control her feelings?"

Wes was silent.

"Wes, no matter how much you love this woman, she _is _your _former _wife. I get the feeling that she has moved on from your marital troubles, and you haven't."

"I should go-"

"Listen to me, Wes." Dr. Ryan pressed. "Could it be possible that your ex-wife doesn't _want _to be protected? Or, even more so, she's protecting you?"

* * *

"Benjamin," Isabella Dias opened the door for her husband. "Did you find that man?"

"Bell, meet Detective Marks. Detective Marks, my wife." Ben introduced them quickly, and then he and Nick were off trying to find the right equipment to test Travis.

"They seem worried about you." Isabella said as she shook Travis's hand.

"Should they be?" Travis asked.

Isabella looked him up and down. "Yes," she whispered. "Here, you must be tired, come sit."

As if her words were a deafening reminder, Travis felt the dull ache in the back of his knees, the way his toes screamed their discomfort. His arms hung loosely at his side like deadweights, his eyes threatening to close at any moment.

Isabella helped the struggling man over to a chair nearest her first aid kit. Closest to the chair was a stroller, the top rolled down. Travis saw a blanket covering a small baby.

"Is this you child?" Travis tried to get a better look.

"Yes," Isabella stopped working for a moment to turn and smile. "Would you like to see her?"

"Yeah." Travis smiled.

"Her name is Elise." Isabella pulled open the top of the stroller and bent down near her child. "She's our little angel."

"Wow." Travis smiled. "That's a beautiful name."

"Thank you." Isabella rubbed her thumb along her baby's soft cheek before standing back up. "Now let's see those cuts."

"Cuts?" Travis shrugged. "I feel fine, really. No cuts. No bruises."

"I'll be the judge of that," Isabella assured him.

* * *

"So, this is it?" Ben looked at Nick as his partner pulled out the drug testing kit.

"Yeah," Nick took in a deep breath. "But I don't think it will work."

"Why not?"

"I think Travis was drugged with LSD." Nick explained. "Colorless, tasteless, odorless, and difficult to read on a drug test."

"So that tea that Mrs. Caballo gave Travis-"

"Had to be laced with LSD." Nick nodded. "Guess there's one way to find out."

* * *

"Detective Marks," Nick and Ben strolled back into the room. Travis looked up. His head had been in his hands. He was trying to rest, and unsuccessfully. "It's your lucky day."

"Wes is back?"

"Uh," Ben looked around. "No. We actually wanted you to pee into this cup."

At the same moment, Isabella returned with Elise in her arms. She had gone to change her daughter's diaper. Travis looked over at the two females and sighed loudly.

"Do I have to do this…here?" he asked.

"I don't see why not." Nick shrugged, holding the cup out to Travis. By now, Ben was too totally distracted with his daughter to worry about Travis's moans.

"I…I'm not ready yet." Travis looked uncomfortable.

Nick muttered something along the lines of 'pussy', but Travis pretended not to hear. He drummed his hands along a desk, bored. When was Wes coming back? At the thought, Travis eagerly grabbed the office phone, dialing quickly.

"Travis, are you okay?" Wes answered from the other line.

"Uh, yeah." Travis shrugged. "I was actually just calling because, uh, Ben and Nick are trying to make me pee in a cup."

"You should do it."

"Just get in here, would you?" Travis snapped, throwing the phone back down. Elise, startled by the loud noise, began to whimper. Ben, in return, sent Travis a dirty look. Isabella told him he might have a concussion. Nick still held that cup in his direction.

Travis was seriously contemplating pretending to faint.


	29. Guardian

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter twenty-nine

* * *

**Guardian**: A person who has the power and duty to take care of another person and/or to manage the property and rights of another person who is considered incapable of taking care of his or her personal affairs.

* * *

"The fact that we found a child's ticket in Travis's boot means that the ticket holder must have been between the ages of four and twelve." Wes Mitchell spoke to the three policemen. Travis sat back and watched him gratefully. He was glad Wes came back and joined the group. With his intellect, the job would get done much quicker.

Not that Travis would admit that.

"What would Wanda Caballo want with a child's ticket? I thought you two confirmed that she didn't have any children." Nick Stein brought up. Isabella Dias was attending to his shoulder. The stitches had broken, and he had bled through the bandage.

"I think that the sooner we figure out what R.A.T.S. means, then sooner we find out why Ramon has this ticket." Ben said.

R.A.T.S. The acronym was news to Travis, he had never heard of it before. The other three men, however, all seemed to be on the same page.

"Is that how you found me?" Travis cut in. "With rats?"

"Yes." Wes nodded. "We got the code from Alex."

"How do you know it's a code—wait, _Alex?"_

"Travis," Wes took a seat across from his partner. "Do you remember when Alex gave you that baseball?"

"Yeah, and you gave it back to her."

'That's not important." Wes snapped. "Anyway, I called her and 'R.A.T.S. three' was written on the ball."

"Rats three." Travis repeated. "I don't get it."

"Yeah…neither do we."

"Okay, let's just get the baseball here, and then we can get somewhere." Nick said. He really wished Mrs. Dias would hurry up on his arm. Here he was, the alpha of the group, and he wasn't even dressed properly.

"Well, my ex has it." Wes explained.

"So bring her here."

"Yes!" Travis nodded at Nick. "That's a good idea."

"No way." Wes shook his head. "No way."

"Why not?" Ben asked. "She could be useful to the investigation."

"How?" Wes scoffed.

"Well, like you said, she's being targeted by Ramon. We can use that to our advantage."

"And put her out on the line? Not going to happen." Wes was adamant. "You leave Alex out of this."

"Dude, stop being so clingy." Travis retorted. "Just bring her here. You can look after her then."

"I don't want to _involve _her, Travis." Wes was speaking directly to his partner, now. "I don't want her to get hurt like-" he stopped.

"Like me?" Travis finished. "C''mon, man, Alex is a big girl, now. She can handle herself. She's stronger than the both of us combined."

"Yeah, but Travis, you haven't heard her voice." Wes begged. "Ramon's really messed her up, man. I mean-"

"Bring her here, Wes." Travis said. "I promise, you'll be able to take better care of her. Win-win, man."

Ben held one of the office phones up to Wes, it's spiraling cord the only thing connecting the phone to the receiving end. The only thing connecting Wes to Alex.

"Call her, man." Travis suggested. "We can arrange a flight. She'll be here first thing tomorrow. Or the next day. Whenever."

"Okay." Wes sighed. "I will. I'll do it. Just, let her rest. I already called her once. I…I don't think she's gotten a lot of sleep lately."

"Man, you weren't kidding?" Travis frowned. "She's really hung up about this, isn't she?"

"Yeah." Wes sighed. "Yeah, she is."

"You're good to go." Isabella patted Nick's arm.

"Thank you." Nick grabbed his shirt. "Damn, it's cold in here."

"Yeah." Wes agreed, looking around for his jacket. He couldn't see it. Was it in the truck? No, no, that wasn't it. Maybe he had left it outside. No, that wasn't it. Had he lost his suit jacket?

"Detective Marks?" Isabella looked sideways at Travis. "Talk to me."

"Yeah." Travis looked up. "I'm good." His eyes drooped, his hands covering his face.

"What's the matter, your head hurt?" Wes asked, eyebrows knit together.

"I said, I'm _good_." Travis sighed. "Really, I'm fine."

"Still, I'm not entirely convinced you don't have some sort of concussion." Isabella frowned.

"I'm just tired." Travis admitted. For once, he didn't like all the attention he was getting.

"About that: do you have a car that we can take back to the hotel?" Wes asked. "Your truck is a little…small."

"I don't want you staying back at that hotel. I'm not sure it's safe." Nick shook his head.

"I guess we could sleep on the…streets." Travis started slowly.

"No, no, nothing like that." Nick smiled. "Rachel and I have been talking. Why don't you two stay with us? We have two guest bedrooms, for when family comes over. I told her you guys were family." He paused. "Besides, she makes some mean pancakes."

Travis grinned. The thought of more family appealed to him, Wes supposed. Wes, on the other hand, was almost a little uncomfortable. 'Family' was not a word he threw around much, and to be thought of as in the same family as Travis was unsettling, to say the least.

"You sure?" he asked, his hands deep in his pockets.

"Absolutely." Nick nodded. "You guys need to get this case done, and I think that Rachel and I can help you if you were a little closer to us."

"I could get their bags if you wanted to take them now." Ben spoke to his partner.

"Good idea, Benjie." Nick nodded.

"Whoa," Wes held up his hands. He knew that he wasn't going to handle it well when he looking in his suitcase the next morning and saw shirts in a different pile than trousers. "I'll go with you. Lieutenant, you take Travis."

"Oh, gee, thanks partner." Travis muttered.

"Okay, so, I'll write down my address." Nick said.

"I guess so." Wes nodded. "Thanks. For all of this. Really."

"No problem." Nick patted the younger man's shoulder. "Benjie picked out a crapshack hotel for you two anyway. What, was there, a futon?"

"There was one bed." Wes answered.

"Talk about unfortunate!" Nick through his head back and laughed. "How'd you two work that out?"

"Well, Travis got the bed and I got the desk." Wes answered. Nick laughed again.

"Yeah, still trying to figure out who got the better deal." Travis cut in.

"All right, see you soon, Detective. Goodnight, Benjie." Nick waved goodbye to the two men, and then hugged Isabella.

"Keep safe." Isabella touched his shoulder.

"I promise."

* * *

Slender fingers traced the outline of the broken deadbolt, discarded on the ground. It was obvious that someone had succeeded in breaking into warehouse number three. Just as planned.

With a thrust of his arms, the door was pushed up and open, revealing the disarray of the thoroughly inspected warehouse from the sliver of sunlight in the morning sky.

For the next few moments, all that was heard was the sound of shoes hitting concrete. The long, steady walk ended at an article of clothing that had not been there before.

A jacket.

Ramon Caballo bent down and picked it up. A small jacket. Tailored, yes, but small. Obviously for someone very thin. He held it up to his nose.

Hm, Miss Alex MacFarland, perhaps? No, no, this was a man's jacket.

Ah, yes. Her doting ex-husband.

Wes Mitchell.

"How delightful." Ramon smiled to himself. "R.A.T.S Two."


	30. Court Monitor

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter thirty

* * *

**Court Monitor:** The person who prepares a written record of the court hearing for a fee, if requested, from audiotapes made during the hearing.

* * *

Los Angeles, California

Soft, chirping birds woke Alex up from her much-needed rest. Her eyes still begged for her to sleep, her body so relaxed and comfortable. This was the most consoled she had been in weeks.

She lay on her stomach, her dark hair falling in her face as she looked out the bright window. She felt _different_, today. Lighter. Like she didn't have to worry as much.

Stifling a yawn, Alex stretched her tight limbs. She lay against the pillows and let out a deep breath. She was determined to make this a good day. For her. For everyone.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Alex rolled over on her side and reached blindly over to her phone.

_Wes Mitchell. _

Alex almost smiled, taking her phone out of its charger and answering.

"Perfect timing, Wes. I just woke up."

"Me too." She could almost picture his tired smile, the way his hair stuck up in crazy ways when he first woke up. It was the only time that she got to see him when he wasn't so neat, organized, and dapper.

"Is Travis all right?"

"As much as he can be." Wes sighed. "He was pretty exhausted after found him. He was a little beat up, but we got him out."

"Out of _where_?" Alex sat up, leaning against some pillows.

"It's…a long story." Wes's voice sounded strained. Alex sensed that finding Travis was harder than Wes had let on.

"Understood." Alex nodded.

"Oh," Wes chuckled. "It feels good to hear that."

"Really?" she laughed as well.

"Travis has been asking a lot of questions lately."

"Does he not remember what happened to him?" Alex frowned.

"No." Wes answered curtly. "No, he doesn't."

Alex was silent; she let a loose hand fall to her forehead, rubbing a temple. This was more serious than she could have imagined.

"Listen, Alex." Wes's voice had changed again, and this time he sounded nervous, gentle, and almost a little guilty. "I need you to do something for me."

He never said that. He never asked for favors.

"No questions asked?" Alex tried to get back to the time when they were joking, but all humor seemed to have left Wes's voice.

"No questions asked." He repeated. "I need you to do this for me."

"Of course," she whispered. "Of course. What is it?"

"Pack your bags."

* * *

Miami, Florida

"Wes, please, just tell me what's going on." Alex begged. Wes sighed from the other side of the room. His phone was on speaker, left carelessly on a pillow.

"I'll tell you everything when you get here tomorrow." He promised. "Now's not a good time."

"I thought you said you just woke up."

_Damn, she was good._ Wes finished buttoning his shirt and frowned. What would he say to her? It's not like he could be a consoling figure right about now.

"Alex," Wes took in a deep breath. "Listen. Travis and I have things to do today."

"And I have to pack."

"Yes. Yes, you do." Wes reached into his suitcase for his jacket. "I'm sorry. I wish there was another way."

Alex was silent.

"Alex," Wes stopped what he was doing. The truth was he missed her. In Los Angeles, she was always one stop away, even after the divorce. She was reachable. Now, in Florida, halfway across the country, she seemed as distant as a star. "I need you to bring everything Ramon Caballo has sent you since Travis and I left."

Silence.

"Alex, promise me. The more you help us, the more I can help you. I will help you, Alex. I won't let him hurt you anymore."

"I'm so scared, Wes." Alex's statement came out very softly. Wes slumped back down on his bed, running his hands along his face. He was just as scared as her. Slowly, he grabbed his phone again and turned off the speaker.

"I know you are, Alex." He whispered. "I wish I could…I wish I could-"

"You're doing all you can." Alex finished. "I know you are."

"Your flight leaves in the afternoon." Wes reminded her.

"See you soon." Alex answered.

"Looking forward to it." Wes smiled before ending the call.

Grabbing his shoes, Wes strolled over to the door to his bedroom, opening it swiftly. Travis Marks nearly tumbled into the room.

"Travis!" Wes exclaimed. "Were you _listening _to my phone call?"

"Uh…" Detective Marks scratched the back of his head. "I was, uh, coming to get you, but you were busy so I," he cleared his throat, "waited outside."

"And pressed your ear to the door."

"Did I?" Travis frowned. "Oh. Silly me."

"You-"

"Watch the mouth, detective." Travis held up his hands. "You don't want the missus to hear."

"Right." Wes began his descent down the stairs, his partner at his heels. "How are our hosts this morning?"

"Rachel made us some pancakes. They were really good."

"Did you eat them all?" Wes whirled around.

"Hey, man." Travis protested. "I left you like…a few."

"That's thoughtful." Wes rolled his eyes. "I just saved your life yesterday."

"Did I _not_ say thank you?"

"Don't think so."

"Well, then," Travis squared his shoulders. "Thanks."

Wes raised his eyebrows. The two detectives went out the front door and headed towards the cop car provided to them by the Miami Police Department. "You should say that again, only this time, I'll record it."

"Once is enough, I think."

"Pu-"

"Language." Travis beat Wes to the driver's seat. "Now, hero, hand over the keys."

* * *

Los Angeles, California

Pulling down her suitcase from her closet, Alex wondered what clothes she would bring. Or, to be more exact, the _quantity _of clothes that she would bring. How long would she be staying, anyway? Wes had never given her specifics, and she hadn't thought to ask. She jumped at the first opportunity to escape this hell she was living.

And if she was escaping hell, she might as well be dressed comfortably.

Alex unzipped the large suitcase, trying to remember the last time she traveled. Honeymoon? No. England? No. Or maybe-

A small piece of paper caught Alex's attention. Lodged in the corner of the bag, it was almost obscure. The paper was old and yellowing, black ink marking the parchment. Neat, cursive handwriting spelled out her name.

_Alex—_

_I'll be waiting for you. _


	31. Continuance

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter thirty-one

* * *

**A/n:** With Alex in Miami, the action begins! Thank you all that have stuck with me throughout the story!

**Continuance:** The adjournment or postponement of a court case to another day.

* * *

Miami International Airport, Miami, Florida

Four policemen—two local and two from California—stood guardedly at the Miami International Airport. To the naked eye, a group of policemen gathered in one place would raise an eyebrow. It would almost be unsettling. What were they here for? Was there some sort of threat? Were they here to protect some sort of diplomat?

No and no. They were here for one of the policemen's ex-wife, who was called here on short notice.

"The flight's delayed." Detective Wes Mitchell finally gave up after looking at his watch for minutes. Something must have happened to the pilot. Or the passenger. Yes, maybe a passenger got hurt. Or Alex. Oh, what if Alex was in danger?

"The plane's on time, man." Travis rolled his eyes from where he and Nick shared a bench. He didn't know if he and Nick were to be treated like the injured members of this party, but he wasn't enjoying it. And neither was Nick, from the look on his face. Every time Ben sent his concerned eyes towards Nick's shoulder, Nick would sigh loudly.

"If the plane was on time, Alex would be here by now." Wes protested.

"She has to get her luggage." Benjamin Dias suggested, but shut up after a dirty look from Wes.

"Is that her?" Nick asked, pointing to a smart-looking lady walking towards them. Her hair was up in a sharp bun, a business suit donned on her figure. Her makeup was fierce and strong.

"That's not her." Wes whispered as the woman veered to the left. "Why would you think that was Alex?"

"I don't know," Nick shrugged. "I'm thinking you and your ex had to have been compatible somehow."

"How am I like her?"

"I don't know, you're both a little uptight."

"Upti-"

"Here she is!" Travis interjected. Wes turned around quickly.

Holding loosely onto a large duffel bag, Alex MacFarland stood, looking around the vast airport.

"Alex," Wes whispered.

Her hair hung around her shoulders in soft, brunette curls; her casual dress pleating around the knees. She was thinner than he had last remembered. From across the room, he could see how tired she looked. Her lips formed a firm, apprehensive line. Wes had almost kissed those lips the last time they had been together. Almost.

"Hey!" Travis called. "Over here!"

Alex whipped around at the familiar voice, and, upon seeing Travis, a huge smile appeared on her face. Travis ran over to greet her. Before he could even say 'hello', she was wrapping her arms around him.

At first, Travis was surprised. Not that she hugged him, but at how firmly she held on to him, like she was afraid he might go away somehow.

"Good to see you again." He patted her back reassuringly as her grip tightened on him. He was thinner than he last remembered. "It's all good, now."

"I'm sorry." Alex pulled back. Travis saw that her eyes were filled with tears. "I'm just so glad to see that you're safe."

"I'm fine," Travis shrugged. "But, you know what? Wes wants to see you even more."

Alex peered past Travis's shoulder. Wes was staring at her, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He was flanked by two policemen that Alex had never met before, one older and one younger than Wes.

"He looks so tired," she whispered.

"So do you." Travis responded carefully. Alex looked up at him. If only he knew. Travis gave her a little push forward with one hand, grabbing her bag with the other.

Once Alex had reached Wes, she could really see how tired he looked. He had dark circles under his eyes, lines around his mouth. He looked thinner. Maybe he was on that cleanse diet again.

"Wes," she started. Alex wanted to tell him many things, but no words came to mind. She looked up into his eyes and couldn't think of any way to console him, to make him feel better. To help him.

And neither could he.

Wes swallowed hard, reaching out to stroke Alex's cheek with an unsteady thumb. She was real. _This _was real.

"Good flight?" He finally spoke, his voice gruff.

"Good flight." Alex nodded.

"Good." Wes whispered. "I…I mean, it's…_good. _It's good to see you."

"Yeah," she smiled, reaching up to steady his hand. "I feel the same way."

Wes nodded once, quickly. His hand fell. "Let's get out of here."

"Where are we going?" Alex frowned.

"The Miami Police Department." Wes answered. "Travis, you have her bag?"

"Got it."

"All right, head to the car." Wes ordered. "We're right behind you."

"It's good to finally meet you, ma'am." One of the unrecognizable policemen shook Alex's hand. She returned the gesture, smiling bravely. "I've heard much about you. I'm Lieutenant Nick Stein."

"Hello, Lieutenant." Alex responded.

"Call me Nick," he smiled. "And this here is my partner, Benjie." He patted the shoulder of the younger cop, who nodded proudly.

"Benjamin Dias, good to meet you, Mrs. Mitchell." He held out his hand. Hesitating at the use of her old name, Alex shook the tan hand anyway.

"To the police station?" she asked.

"Of course," the lieutenant led the way. "Wherever you wish."

Alex walked with the cops, conscious of the steady hand on the small of her back. Wes made sure he was behind her, protecting her.

She felt safe again.

* * *

Miami Police Department, Miami, Florida

"When did Ramon Caballo begin to harass you, Mrs. Mitchell?" Benjamin Dias asked softly. He sat near his desk, on his chair. The kind with wheels. Travis assured him that those chairs were the best, because you got to exercise and sit at the same time.

The five had conjured up some sort of circle. Each had their own chair. With wheels. Wes sat dangerously close to his ex, his arm around the back of her chair. Nick and Travis congregated together next to Ben.

"Well," Alex seemed to ponder the question. "On June tenth, when he was exonerated."

"Exonerated from what, ma'am?"

"Alex was the defense lawyer in a case against Ramon Caballo. He was guilty. The charges were dropped." Wes answered for Alex.

"All due respect, Detective," Ben started slowly. "I was asking Mrs. Mitchell, here."

"Right." Wes nodded, leaning back in his chair. He didn't like how this felt like some sort of interrogation. "Of course."

"Mrs. Mitchell?" Ben raised his eyebrows.

"Oh," Alex looked sheepish. "No, no, I agree with Wes. He was right. I lost my case against Ramon Caballo that day. After the verdict, I tried to leave the courtroom, but that was when Ramon found me. He kept talking to me, threatening me. Finally, Wes showed up."

"What was Detective Mitchell doing there?"

"Picking up Travis." Wes said.

"Can Travis not drive himself?" Nick scoffed.

"Wes and I had a…prior commitment that day." Travis cleared his throat. "I just came to support my foster sister."

"Mrs. Mitchell, what did you mean by 'Ramon was threatening you'?"

"And not just on the tenth of June. All the way on to _now,_ July second." Nick added. "What has Ramon done to make you so scared?"

"He…" Alex reached for her suitcase. Travis edged it forward with his foot until Alex could grab it. "I never actually saw him, but he would send me things."

"Things?" the four cops repeated at the same time.

"Letters." Alex seemed a little surprised at their attention to detail. "Texts, emails, anything that can be sent to me anonymously. And, of course, the baseball." she pulled it out, along with a pile of printed out emails and handwritten letters from Ramon. "He would tell me things before they happened. He would threaten and…and scare me."

"Scare you how, ma'am?" Ben asked gently.

"I couldn't sleep for weeks." Alex looked down. She let Travis pry the baseball from her loose fingers. He already had the box it was sent in in his hands. The letters remained in Alex's grasp. "And he knew it. He would mock me."

Wes couldn't speak. He wanted to close his eyes; he wanted to close his eyes so he could open them and this could all be a dream. But it wasn't. This was all too painfully real.

"Alex, why didn't you say anything?" Wes asked softly, once the letters had begun their slow trek amongst the hands of the cops. Each read the words carefully. Ben had a look of deep concentration on his face, but Nick seemed calmer. He had worked against Ramon before. Nick knew what this mastermind was capable of. Travis just looked shocked.

Alex turned to her ex-husband. Her eyes were sad.

"Wes," she whispered. "If I told you, he would find you. He would hurt you, and he would hurt Travis."

"You…you kept up with this, you _let_ him use you just to protect me?" Wes asked softly. She slowly nodded.

His hands found hers first. Seconds later, they were hugging. The contact felt so good. This was his _wife_, this was his _Alex_. He couldn't believe she would endure such torture for him. For his partner. For his profession. She always hated that he was a cop, and here she was, defending his honor like it was her duty. Like it was her right.

He loved her.

Alex pulled back first. Her eyes were wet, and she turned away, wiping them quickly. He wanted to tell her that it was okay to cry, but there was a lump in his throat that he couldn't quite swallow, so he didn't say anything.

"Mrs. Mitchell," Ben began. "I've arranged a hotel room for you, if that's all right."

"Yes, thank you." she smiled. "Thank you very much."

"I can take you to your room." Nick suggested. "If that's all right with you, Wes."

Wes stood up, as did the other four. "Give me the spare key." he looked at Ben.

"All yours, _hermano_." Ben slipped the key into Wes's pocket.

"See you soon, then, Benjie." Nick nodded at his partner.

"Yeah, of course." Ben nodded. "I'll meet you at the hotel."

"Detective Marks," Nick nodded at Travis. "Good to see you back on your feet."

Travis nodded at him.

"Detective Mitchell," Nick looked over at Wes. "I will take good care of your wife. Er, ex-wife." he smiled knowingly at the LA detective.

"You better." Wes responded. Alex waved goodbye to Wes, and then the two were off, leaving Wes with his thoughts. Which was never a good thing.


	32. Juvenile Delinquent

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter thirty-two

* * *

**Juvenile Delinquent:** A person under the age of 16 who commits a criminal act.

* * *

Travis Marks watched the smile on his partner's face slowly fade as Alex and Nick left the room. Wes was holding in all his emotions, not letting a single ounce of feeling slip while his ex was momentarily with him, while he was vulnerable. And now, as soon as the door was shut, Wes let go.

Kicking his chair, Wes cursed. How did he not know this was happening? Alex had been sabotaged this whole time by Ramon and he had done _nothing? _She was probably scared out of her mind, and Wes was all the way in Florida, worrying about other things such as Wanda Caballo, whom Wes was beginning to think was a lost cause.

Travis's mind flickered to Wanda Caballo. That's the woman they packed their bags for, the woman he and Wes flew all the way to Florida to find. Travis couldn't think of many times when he and Wes actually started _searching _for her. Sure, they had asked around, but their priority had always been on Ramon, ever since the start. Find Ramon. Stop Ramon. Perhaps find Wanda along the way.

"Don't beat yourself up, man." Benjamin spoke softly.

Wes looked up at the noise. His hands wrung together like two wet rags, his feet skidding to a stop.

"Ramon, he's full of empty threats." Ben reassured him. "That's what Nick always says."

"And you believe him?" Wes spoke a little harshly. "Sorry," he took it back. "I just don't think…Ramon's more dangerous than we all tend to believe."

"Yeah, he raped a little girl." Travis muttered.

"Our main focus is on Wanda Caballo." Ben brought up the elephant in the room. "Where is she, how is she, and how much time do we have?"

"Until what?" Wes asked, taking a shaky seat next to his partner. "Until she's killed?"

"I don't think Ramon would kill his wife." Ben shook his head. "From your reports, he cared enough about her to file a missing persons report."

"I'm not putting anything past Ramon anymore." Wes retorted.

"What about that code?" Ben snapped his fingers, as if a light had just turned on in his head.

"The code?" Travis frowned.

"R.A.T.S. Three." Ben and Wes said at the same time. Travis nodded, he remembered hearing about that.

"R.A.T.S. Three." Travis mumbled to himself, writing out the acronym and number on a piece of scratch paper. Wes watched him write, staring at each letter intently.

"'T' for 'Travis'," Wes whispered, his voice edging on confidence. "'Three' for the third letter in the acronym."

"What?" Travis frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Look," Wes sat up a little in his seat. He was on to something, and he knew it. "R.A.T.S. The third letter is 'T'. 'T' is for Travis. R.A.T.S. Three. Get it?"

"Look at this," Ben edged his seat closer. "R.A.T.S. Two. Two for the second letter. 'A' for-"

"Alex." Travis finished. "'A' for Alex." He understood, now, too. "R.A.T.S. One. One for the first letter. R for Ramon."

"What about the fourth letter?" Ben asked. "'S'."

Wes shook his head, he didn't know. "Where does Wanda play in?" He asked, scratching the back of his head.

"Nick always said that Ramon thinks outside the box," Ben shrugged. "Maybe that can help."

"The box," Wes and Travis repeated at the same time, sending each other a look. "The box!"

The box that the baseball was in; of course. The one thing that either of the detectives had ignored throughout this process. It was always about the baseball, what was written on the baseball, how Alex was doing. But the box—that was a different story.

Travis grabbed the box first. He felt as if he could compress it in his hands; it was constructed of a flimsy cardboard.

"Tear it." Wes ordered.

Travis easily took the box apart, ripping at the folds.

There was writing on the inside, in that same, simple cursive that had plagued the minds of many in the past month, maybe more. The same, old-fashioned penmanship that sent shivers up one's spine, that made you look around, that made you think twice about where you were, or who you were with.

"What is it?" Wes took the box from Travis's limp hand. He looked at the writing, his face paling.

"Detective?" Ben frowned. "What's going on?"

Wes cleared his throat. He tried to register his surroundings. The last time he had taken directions from Ramon, he had found his partner stuffed in a box, cold and unresponsive. What would happen this time? Who would they find? _What _would they find?

"It's an address." Wes spoke finally. "Another one."

"May I?" Ben held out his hand. Wes handed him the cardboard. Ben looked down at the writing, frowning.

"Wait a minute…" he reached for his phone. After a few seconds of scrolling, he seemed to find what he was looking for. He shot out of his seat. "This is Sofía Caballo's address." Ben informed the two LA cops. "Ramon's mother."

"Sofía?" Wes and Travis were standing, now, too.

"The woman who drugged you, Travis." Ben nodded. "Do you really want to go back there?"

"Ben and I can go alone." Wes suggested, but he wasn't fond of the idea. He wasn't going to leave Travis alone again here, not after last time. Not after he was almost killed. Even if Ramon Caballo's crazy mother was involved.

"No, man." Travis looked at Wes. He seemed to be thinking the same thing. "I'm not letting this woman fool me again."

Wes nodded at his partner. He almost felt a little prideful that Travis stood his ground and defended his honor. This was the Travis he knew, not some cold body in a box. Wes wished he could get the image out of his mind.

"Ben, what are you thinking, my man?" Travis turned to the young rookie, who was staring down at the floor.

"I'm thinking we may find Wanda Caballo." Ben looked up. "Dead _or_ alive."


	33. Plea

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter thirty-three

* * *

**A/n:** So, this is the big climatic chapter. Thanks for sticking with me up to this point! Things are going to get a little fast, and go back and forth between Nick/Alex and Wes/Ben/Travis. These events are supposed to be happening simultaneously, so the scenes will change rather quickly. Feel free to review and tell me if this is confusing!

**Plea:** An accused person's answer to a criminal charge. For example: not guilty; guilty; no contest.

* * *

"Mrs. Caballo?" Benjamin Dias knocked on the same, old door that he had faced weeks before. "Sofía Caballo, Miami PD, open up."

Detectives Mitchell and Marks straggled a little further behind the rookie. The walked the familiar dirt path side by side, wondering what they would find. Although neither of them would admit this to one another, they both felt a little nervous. Perhaps it was an excited nervous. Perhaps they both also knew that they would find something here. After all, Ramon had sent them here.

"Mrs. Caballo? _Policía, abra_!"

"Hey, did we ever get a warrant for this place?" Travis glanced sideways at his partner as they neared Ben.

"No," Wes shrugged. "We probably should have."

"Yeah…I'm thinking that we're about to break in."

"Unauthorized."

"That's what 'break in' means." Travis stopped.

"Got a Plan 'B'?" Wes ignored Travis and went up to Benjamin.

"Not at the present moment." Ben looked like he was sizing up the door.

"Were you the one that told me that the Caballo family was 'sue-happy'?" Wes watched him, half-amused.

"Probably," Ben shrugged. He pulled out his gun. "But I'm justice-happy." He shot the doorknob. It fell off with a shuddering _clang_. Ben kicked down the door.

* * *

Alex followed Nick Stein into her temporary hotel room. It was a quaint room, with a bathroom off to the side, and a comfortable-looking bed in the center, serving as some sort of focal point. _Sleep here. _

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Alex smiled at Nick as he set her bags down on her bed. "You didn't have to do that."

"It's my pleasure." he smiled back. To Alex, Nick seemed older than his partner, and even Travis and Wes. Lines etched his face; each told a story of a different case, a different situation that needed averting. His hands looked rough; his eyes seemed old, like it had seen enough violence for a lifetime. His wedding ring, however, was shining brightly, a staple of his character. _Faithful. _

"Do you think the others are still at the police department?" Alex asked.

"Yes," Nick nodded. "In fact, I think I'll call them. Your two, along with Benjie…I'm sure they've figured something out. D'ya mind?"

"Not at all." Alex shrugged. "I think I'll just unpack."

"Of course." he nodded, and was out of the room in a second. That was another thing about this lieutenant. He sure cared about his partner.

Alex unzipped her suitcase, fiddling around with the various skirts. She wished she had brought more casual clothes, but she had packed at the last minute and hadn't really thought about it. She shut her suitcase with a resounding _thud. _

No, wait, that wasn't her. Her suitcase wouldn't make that noise. Frowning, Alex turned around. Had Nick hurt himself or-

She screamed.

* * *

"Travis and I will take the upstairs, you check the downstairs." Wes nodded firmly at Ben.

"Oh, yeah." Ben called to the empty space. "I'll just…I'll just check around the kitchen. I guess."

"What did he say?" Travis asked his partner as the two trudged up the stairs.

"Don't know." Wes shrugged. "Not our concern right now."

* * *

Ramon's hand covered her mouth. Alex hardly had time to look for Nick before she was pressed against the unforgiving wall.

He looked even more insane than he had the first time they had met. His eyes were large and bloodshot. His fingers, thin and bony, curled against her lips. The only thing that was the same to Alex was Ramon's insightful sneer.

"Is this a bad time?" he smiled, cocking his head to the side playfully.

"Let. Me. Go." Alex stopped struggling for a moment to glare at this man. This wretched, awful person who had controlled her life for such a short time, but made it seem like years. This man whose grip was cutting off her circulation, and whose eyes were gleaming just a little too much. He was enjoying himself.

"Did you like my letters?" Ramon continued, his hands beginning to move in tantalizingly slow circles. He traced the shape along her arm, hardly noticing her trembling.

"Sto-"

"Stop?" Ramon laughed, his breath hot against her face. "My, my, dear Alex. Don't be so mundane. Stretch your mind a little, use your imagination! For once, sweet Alex, think of me as your _savior_."

* * *

"That's it." Ben brushed the dust off his blue uniform. "All the rooms have been checked."

"All of them?" Wes Mitchell frowned, standing across from the man. His partner, Travis, trudged down the stairs in defeat. The second floor proved to be just as empty as the downstairs.

"Well…" Ben took in a deep breath. "All except _that _door."

Wes looked over to where Ben was pointing and saw a small door.

"That's it." Wes breathed out. "That's the door we weren't allowed in before."

"_¿Dónde está de ir al baño?" Clearing his throat, Benjamin turned back towards Sofía. She pointed vaguely towards the other side of the floor, giving Wes all the ammunition he needed. Wes immediately headed towards the closed door. _

"_No!" Sofía cried, and then began to speak in rapid Spanish. Benjamin could hardly follow, but spoke as hastily as Sofía was. _

"_Don't go in there. Bathroom is around the corner. Do not open that door; it is locked for a reason." _

"_What's in this room?" Wes asked, his hand still on the knob. _

"_¿Qué hay en la habitación?" _

_Sofía had since become very quiet. Her hand was resting on the tea pitcher in her hand, to which Travis was giving a pained look. When she spoke next, her voice was timid and soft. _

"_That door is locked for a reason, that's all I will say." Benjamin paused, listened to Sofía some more. "I think it is time the three of you leave."_

* * *

"Dear Alex," Ramon stood over her, as she had been bound to a chair. Her wrists hurt from the rope; her mouth was covered in tape. She was trapped. Ramon, however, was not. He walked back in forth in small lines in front of her, as if to remind her that _she _was the one that was trapped.

"It has come to my attention that you don't seem to think we are that alike. And here I thought we would be perfect for each other. We're both smart, intensely clever, _and_ taken.

"Oh, that's right. You're divorced. How silly of me to forget. It's almost like your marriage never existed. Funny, that's another thing we have in common."

* * *

Travis was the first to reach the door, and he grabbed the knob harshly, pulling has hard as he could. Nothing. The door was locked.

"Dammit!" he cried. "We've _got_ toopen this door."

"Travis is right." Wes nodded, turning to Benjamin. "Do you have anything we could use to break down the door?"

"There's a hammer in one of the closets." Ben snapped into action.

* * *

Ramon bent down until he was level with the terrified Alex. His hands traced along her bare legs and along the hem of her dress.

"Lovely girl," he whispered. "You're such a lovely girl."

He pressed his lips to her thigh.

* * *

"Give me the hammer." Travis demanded as soon as Ben came back into view. The hammer was really a sledgehammer, large and heavy. It had to work. Ramon had boxed him up; he had tried to get rid of him. Ramon was not boxing anyone else in.

"The door is thin, Travis." Wes warned when Ben hesitantly gave him the tool. "It won't take much to break it down."

"Right." Travis nodded. He adjusted the sledgehammer in his sweaty hands. "Now or never."

"Hey!" Wes called, pressing his ear against the door. "Watch out, this door is coming down!"

"Wes, get out of the way." Travis spoke.

"Wait." Wes swallowed hard, paling suddenly.

"What is it?" Ben frowned.

"Wes?" Travis looked at his partner.

"I hear a voice." Wes whispered. "Someone's crying."

"_¡Cuidado! La puerta está bajando!" _Ben exclaimed as Travis's hammer connected with the door.

* * *

Ramon was biting her leg. His soft kiss turned into a jolt of pain, his teeth sharp. Alex screamed, her voice muffled through the tape masking her lips. With a growl, he had ripped a hole in her tights.

"Ssh," he came up to be eye-level with her again. "Don't speak, little girl. You don't want your mommy to hear, now, do you?"

Something in his eyes was different. Oh, he looked so _rabid. _Alex could feel her heart pounding against her chest.

And then, in a moment of complete compulsion, Ramon touched her breast.

* * *

"Again!" Wes yelled. Travis had nearly gotten the door to crack. With each lofty swing the door dented. "Just once more, Travis!"

With a loud, animal-like roar, Travis put all his muscle into his next swing. He put all his emotions into the force of the swing. Shards of wood sprayed the three men. Travis felt his face cut by a flying projectile. He turned away.

When Travis looked back at the damage, the door lay at his feet.

* * *

Alex's dress lay beside her. Taunting her. Inanimate, hardly ripped, and _safe. _

"Little girl," Ramon's voice came from behind her ear. "Is this tape making you uncomfortable?

She had begun to bite her lips moments before, as Ramon's touches became painfully aware to her. Now she tasted blood as her cracked lips finally parted. She had never felt more exposed in her life. Never had she felt this _disgusted_. She never wanted to be touched again.

But Ramon wasn't stopping any time soon.

* * *

"Here, let's move this door." Ben jumped into action, pushing aside the rubble. The dust was so thick around them that they couldn't see into the room. But they could hear, and that was enough for the three of them. Someone was alive in the room ahead of them.

Alive, and in pain.

* * *

With a throbbing headache, Lieutenant Nick Stein rolled onto his side, his eyes suddenly slipping open. At first, he didn't know where he was. He looked at the unfamiliar carpet and frowned. This was nowhere he knew.

And then he heard screaming.

"You're a naughty little girl!" A man, his voice slightly accented, laughed. He seemed in good spirits.

More screaming, followed by a slap.

"Naughty little girls must learn how to properly behave."

Silence followed by the man, save for a few grunts. The woman, however, was whimpering.

Nick tried to stand. He _had_ to stand. He had to help whoever was hurt. He had to help this poor woman. That was his job, after all.

He struggled to his feet, wobbling slightly before falling once more.

* * *

Coughing, the three men finally peered into the room.

"_Dios, por favor, dime que es mentira."_


	34. Minor

Cross-Examination

Common law

Chapter thirty-four

* * *

**A/n:** This follows the same format as last chapter, going back and forth between the two scenes.

**Minor**: A person under age 18, the age of legal majority.

* * *

"C'mon, Lieutenant, keep going." Nick spoke to himself through gritted teeth. His shoulder, still recovering from a gunshot wound, was beginning to hurt as much as his head. He figured it was a psychosomatic sort of thing.

All he knew was that a woman was being attacked somewhere near him. He tried to follow the noise, but things had since gone silent, which only scared Nick more.

Turning a slow corner, Nick finally saw who was attacking whom.

Ramon Caballo was leaning over Alex Mitchell.

Wes's former wife.

* * *

The three men stared at the sight in front of them with as much horror as they could muster. The closet was small and cramped. Wes was claustrophobic just looking at the small area. A strong stench of sweat, blood, vomit, and urine filled the air. Ben covered his mouth, gagging.

Travis slipped to the ground, the hammer falling loosely alongside him with a resounding _clang._

A small child, not much older than nine years old, sat, trembling, in the corner of the closet, covered in dirt.

* * *

Nick's good hand connected with Ramon's face as soon as he was close enough to reach him. Although his vision was still hazy, he was still standing, and that's all he needed in this fight. He was counting on his adrenaline to fill in with the rest.

"Well, look who woke up!" Ramon jeered, pushing the unsteady man. Nick fell, but quickly found himself back on his feet. He wasn't giving up that easily.

"Alex, get the hell out of here!" he yelled to the young woman, who was wringing her hands together, incoherent. She seemed to register her name and complied, crawling away in nothing but ripped tights and a loose bra.

"Well, Lieutenant, once you're done playing the White Knight, you can come back to the dark side!" Ramon threw the man to the side.

"What the hell do you mean?" Nick snapped. "I don't have time for this, Ramon! You're und-"

"Arrest?" Ramon laughed, reaching into his pocket. "Oh, yes, I know. Eventually, I suppose I will have to comply." He shrugged, towering over the fallen man. Nick lay helplessly on the ground, his head spinning.

"But, for now," Ramon stepped on Nick's injured shoulder, and the man cried out. "I suppose I will have to do with escape."

Out of Ramon's pocket came a shining knife, and that was the last thing Nick saw.

* * *

Coughing through the dust, Travis got down on his hands and knees, edging towards the child. The young boy did not say anything, but the look on his face told it all.

"Travis," Wes warned quietly. Travis looked back at the two. Wes had since moved in to peer into the room, his eyes wide. Ben, however, stayed back. Travis knew that he was thinking of anything but this child. Ben was thinking of his own daughter.

"I know, Wes." Travis answered.

Wes nodded at him.

"Hey," Travis turned towards the child, speaking ever so softly. "We're not here to hurt you, we promise. We're police, okay? We're going to get you out of here."

The child, upon hearing this, broke down in tears. Ben faltered and had to lean against the wall. Seconds later he was pulling out his phone.

"I-I'm calling an ambulance." Ben whispered, hurriedly leaving the room.

"Don't cry, little man." Travis shuffled in further. The room was so small Travis could barely fit, and the contents on the floor were not helping. Dried blood stained the wood, the room reeked of urine and vomit. He held out his hand.

The boy came into view. He was wearing a now stained baseball jersey. Los Angeles Dodgers. When the boy moved in front of Travis, he saw the name on the back of the jersey. Kershaw. Clayton Kershaw.

"Wes…" Travis gulped. He suddenly had an awful feeling in his gut. Something was amiss in this whole 'Wanda' story.

"What's your name, kid?" Wes bent down near the wobbling child. Travis came up behind him and held him steady.

"S-S-Sammy." the boy whimpered. "Samuel Wanda."

Wes seemed to recoil. He sat down on the ground. No, this child couldn't be-

"What happened, Sammy?" Travis asked shakily. He was thinking the same thing as Wes. "How did you get into that closet?"

"I…" the boy frowned, his dark eyebrows knitted together. "I was at a baseball game with my mom and dad."

"That's why you're wearing the jersey." Wes thought out loud.

"My mommy took me to go get some ice cream when this man came up and took me."

"What kind of man?"

"He was tall and scary. H-he was tan like me, a-and he was so mean." Sammy whimpered. "I don't know how long I've been here."

Child's price admission ticket. Why else would Ramon had placed that ticket in Travis's boot? He was trying to give them a clue. Wanda was a last name. Ramon had no wife. It was all a hoax. This child was the missing person that had been investigating, not some woman. Ramon had written that letter to Nina Lopez, not Wanda.

"'S' for Samuel," Travis whispered.

"R.A.T.S. Four." Wes finished, putting his head in his hands.

"Sammy," Travis spoke quietly, the first to speak after he and Wes's revelation. "Sammy, can you walk?"

"Uh, yeah." the boy sniffed and nodded. He took a few unsteady steps. He walked like a newborn deer, his legs wobbly. He didn't know where he was going. Travis and Wes could see how skinny he was. His legs were like sticks and his rib cage protruded around his small stomach.

When Sammy fell down, Travis caught him and picked him swiftly up. He was so light, Travis cringed. He only had to use one hand to hold him.

"All right," Ben walked back into the room. "We should be good. I called an ambulance."

"Okay, I'll stay with Sammy." Travis nodded. Wes gave him a look.

"I _want_ to stay with him." Travis reiterated. "You two go back to the hotel. I'll meet you there later."

"Try and get in touch with Mr. and Mrs. Wanda." Wes nodded, and then noticed Ben's incredulous expression. "I'll tell you on the way to the hotel." He assured him. "Now let's go."


	35. Lien

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter thirty-five

* * *

**Lien:** A charge, hold, or claim upon property of another as security for a debt.

* * *

"Wanda Caballo never existed." Ben repeated Wes's words slowly, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Never." Wes shook his head. "This kid, Sammy, that's the 'Wanda' we've been searching for this whole time."

"We should have known." Ben slipped his phone out of his pocket. "We should have known."

"Of course." Wes flipped on his turn signal. "Think about it: has Ramon _ever_ worn his wedding ring? The child's ticket to the baseball game? Ramon was just screaming the answer at us and we wouldn't take any of his bait."

Ben held his phone up to his ear, listening to the ringing sound. He was calling Nick. Actually, this was the second time he had called his partner, to no prevail. Nick wasn't answering his phone. "Damn," he muttered.

"What?" Wes asked as the hotel came into view.

"It's Nick. He's not answering his phone." Ben saw Wes's worried expression. "I'm sure it's nothing. He probably forgot to turn it on."

"Does he forget to turn his phone on often?" Wes turned into the hotel parking lot, trying not to sound too sardonic.

"Well, you know, Wes, he's old." Ben grinned, getting out of the truck.

"What the hell is this?" Wes looked over at the front of the building. Ambulances and police cars flooded the area, and not one car Ben recognized as Nick's.

"Looks like something happened." Ben frowned. "A fight, maybe?"

"C'mon." Wes was running now. He had an awful feeling in his gut. Something had happened to Alex. He had to find her.

"Miami PD!" Ben ran behind Wes. He reached the front desk where a woman stood talking with a paramedic.

"Officers," she nodded at them once they flashed their badges. "Join the line."

Ben looked at the uniformed men and women standing around the lobby. Why weren't they doing anything? They all looked mildly bored, as if they weren't entirely sure about the case. Like they didn't know what had happened.

"What's going on?" Wes asked.

"There's a room on the second floor." The woman explained. "We heard screams and a crash. We think there was some sort of altercation."

"Did you check the room?"

"Well, that's the problem." The woman sighed. "All the keys to that room were stolen."

"Stolen," Ben repeated. "How so?"

"I heard the noise and headed to the room-"

"-it's upstairs?-"

"-but the door was locked. When I returned to my desk, the key to that room was missing."

"So everyone's just standing around with nothing to do?" Ben frowned. "Can't you break the door down?"

"Listen," the woman rolled her eyes. "It's probably just some kids getting high."

"I don't have time for this." Wes snapped. "What is the room number?"

_Everything okay up there? _Ben texted Nick as Wes took over the conversation.

"One-oh-two." The woman looked at her computer screen on the desk in front of her. "I don't see how that helps you-"

"That's the room Alex is in." Wes turned to Ben.

"How do you know?" Ben looked up from his phone. It didn't look like Nick was going to text back any time soon.

"I have the spare key." Wes flipped the card out of his pocket, holding it tightly between his fingers. "C'mon, let's go."

* * *

As Wes and Ben stepped out of the elevator and onto the second floor, they were met by an officer around Nick's age, dressed in his police uniform. "Hey, this is police business." He scowled at Wes.

"Don, this is Detective Mitchell with the LAPD." Ben interjected quickly. "He and his partner have been working with Nick and I on a case."

"A case, huh?" Don frowned. "Does it have anything to do with this hotel room?"

"We have reason to believe so, yes." Wes nodded.

"You have a way into this door?" Don raised his eyebrows.

"As a matter of fact, we do."

"Then be my guest, California." Don stepped back. "Benjamin and I can keep guard."

Wes gave his thanks with a tip of his head, quickly sliding his key into the lock. The light turned green and instantly, Wes pushed his way into the room.

The first person he saw was Nick.

The man lay on his back, immobilized on the ground. From his uniform protruded a knife; blood seeped from his chest. It was clear to Wes that the lieutenant was dead.

Wes couldn't say anything. He knew what this meant. Alex's protector was dead. Alex could be hurt. Alex could be…she could be…

_"Alex!"_ Wes yelled. His heart was racing, his vision blurred by his anger. Ramon—this _had _to be Ramon—had gone after his ex-wife; Ramon had killed Nick, someone Wes was beginning to consider a friend. Someone Ben considered a father.

"Detective!" Don yelled. "What is it?"

"Let me go in." Ben suggested.

"You stay here, Benjamin." Don snapped. Wes could hear their conversation, but made no attempt to aid it. He could hear Don's breath hitch as he reached the body.

"Alex!"

"Wes."

Wes stopped dead in his tracks. He had heard her. Alex. _His_ Alex. His head craned towards the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar.

"Don, let me in! What the hell is going on?" Ben's voice flew over the door and surrounded the room. Wes pushed through the thought of telling Ben about Nick and walked into the bathroom.

"Don, is Nick in there? Just let me talk to him!"

She had crawled her way into the corner of the bathroom, her knees drawn up to her chest. Wes looked at her. That's all he did. He just _looked _at her.

Her tights were ripped. Bite marks were easily visible through the ripped fabric. She had cuts along her face and arms. Alex was so _exposed_. Her bra straps hung loosely around her arms—she made no effort to adjust them. It wasn't as if Wes hadn't seen her before, and she had lost the will to care. Most heartbreaking, however, were the tears that stained her precious face when she finally looked up at him.

Wes's knees hit the tile floor with a thud. His mind had since become numb. He could faintly hear Ben crying in the background, he registered the sound of his grief. But that was all. It was almost if the walls surrounding this bathroom were blocking out everything positive; only the negative seemed to communicate with Wes.

His shaky hand found her soft, pale cheek. She flinched, but made no move to shy away. Slowly, his thumb began to stroke soft comfort into her skin. She was trembling so violently that he was afraid to hold her.

"Alex," he spoke ever so tenderly. "You need to tell me who did this."

Silence. More of Ben's angry tirade at himself. More of Don calming him down.

"Alex, sweetheart, listen to me. Did Ramon come here? Did Ramon hurt you and Nick?"

Officers seemed to have flooded into the room now. Wes could hear them try to get Ben to release Nick's body.

This time, Wes spoke slowly. Incredibly slowly. Almost like he was speaking to a deaf person, and they were reading his lips. "Did. Ramon. Do. This?"

"_Don't treat me like a child!" _Alex screamed. Her whole body riveted, her hands curling into fists. The tears welled up in her eyes again, the back of her hand coming to wipe away the tears.

Wes didn't know what to say. There was nothing he _could _say. Nothing he could tell her would be comforting at the moment.

"H-here." Clearing his throat, Wes began to unbutton his shirt rapidly. Seconds later, he threw the garment off of his body and into Alex's hands. "Put this on. I'll talk to the officers."

Looking up at Wes's sweat-soaked white tee plastered to his body, Alex slipped on the slim, blue shirt. It fell past her bottom, the sleeves going further than her bony fingers, warming her.

Minutes later, when a pair of shell-shocked officers followed Wes into the bathroom, she allowed her former husband to pick her up and cradle her in his arms. When they passed the body of Nick Stein and the hunched form of Benjamin Dias, Alex pressed her face into Wes's shoulder. Placing a chaste kiss to the top of her head, Wes wondered how long it would be before he could return to Los Angeles, before Alex could sleep again.

Before Ramon got the justice he deserved.


	36. Family Support Magistrate

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter thirty-six

* * *

**Family Support Magistrate**: A person who decides cases involving child support and paternity. Can also enforce court orders involving paternity, child support and alimony.

* * *

"Someone please get this child a room!" A handful of nurses stood around Sammy Wanda, their emotions ranging from stunned to horrified. Samuel lay quiet on a stretcher, one frail hand squeezing Travis's outstretched grasp.

All remnants of the hell this child had gone through was evident. Dirt smudged the boy's skin, almost making him look darker than he was. Dried blood caked around minor scratches and deep gashes alike. His hair was covered in dust, dandruff, and debris from the fall of the door. A tattered baseball jersey and a ripped pair of basketball shorts covered a frail, shrunken skeleton of a body.

"Ready." An older nurse poked his head out of a room, giving his coworkers a thumb-up.

"All right, Sammy, looks like they're gonna clean you up, huh?" Travis whispered. Samuel looked up at the detective, his eyes large.

"Sir," a young nurse took a hold of the stretcher. "Are you family to this child?"

"No," Travis shook his head. "But I'm with the police. And I-" his phone began to ring. Frowning, Travis slipped the device out of his pocket. _Ben Dias. _He knew that this time, ignoring the call would not be a good idea.

"Yes?" the nurse raised an eyebrow.

"I-I'll check on him later." Travis assured the nurse. "Tell him that. I will see him again."

"Of course," she smiled and began to push the stretcher towards the vacant room.

"Hey, man." Travis held the phone up to his ear. "How's everything going?"

"Uh," the rookie's voice cracked. Travis immediately knew something was wrong. "A-are you with the kid?"

"Yeah, he was just put into a room."

"Okay. Yeah." he sighed. "Uh, you go check on him, then."

"What's up, man?" Travis frowned.

"Nothing." There was a long pause, in which Travis listened and Ben waited. Neither wanted to speak. "I shouldn't have called." Ben's voice was lifeless. "I'll see you around."

"Sure." Travis answered a little unsurely before hanging up. That was probably the weirdest phone conversation he had ever had. He would make note of that when he got a chance to talk to Wes. _What the hell is up with Ben, man? _

Rounding a corner, Travis headed into the room containing his new friend. Well, not friend. He hardly knew the child. However, there was something intriguing about him to Travis. He was so young and broken, and Travis was determined to get in touch with his parents—or guardians—as soon as he had a chance. But, first, he wanted to check on him.

A young, pretty nurse that Travis hadn't seen before knelt down before Samuel, gently turning off the hot water in the bubble bath in front of her. Travis peered into the bathroom. Samuel looked as content as he had ever been, laying amiss murky bubbles, now a mixture of dirt, blood, and soap, and a warm tub. His tan eyes were closed, his dark mop of hair still dry.

"Are you an angel?" Samuel asked, his eyes still closed. He seemed perfectly content to lay in this tub forever.

"An angel?" her voice was soft and gentle. With smooth lines, she rubbed the young boy's bony shoulder.

"My momma always told me that if I meet an angel, that I should ask her to sing me a song, 'cause an angel has a pretty voice."

The nurse's cheeks turned scarlet, but she kept her calm. "Yes," she smiled. "Yes, I'll sing you a song.

"_Pass me not, O gentle Savior, hear my humble cry; while on others Thou art calling, do not pass me by. Savior, Savior, Hear my humble cry, while on others Thou art calling, do not pass me by." _

Her voice was so soothing, so wonderfully consoling to both Samuel and Travis. Travis couldn't remember the last time he had heard a hymn, or such a simple song. He leaned in to hear more.

"_Let me at Thy throne of mercy. Find a sweet relief; kneeling there in deep contrition, help my unbelief. Trusting-"_

Travis stepped forward a bit, pushing the door open ever so slightly. The nurse heard the old piece of wood creek and jumped, turning around. Travis was sprayed accordingly with dirty bath water.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed frantically, standing back up quickly. Her ponytail, which seemed to entrap a mess of curly, brown hair, hung loose on her head. She handed Travis a towel swiftly, but he brushed it aside.

"I'm fine, really."

"I didn't notice you," she continued, obviously flustered. "I mean, I would have-"

"Mister Travis!" Samuel exclaimed, his eyes flying open at the familiar voice. "You came back!"

"Hey, Sammy." Travis grinned. "Good to see you again, bud. How you holding up?"

"Have you met my angel?" Samuel sat up in the bath, the water sloshing around him. Travis caught a hint of Sam's ribcage and stick-like arms. The thought made him slightly ill.

"Angel?" Travis smiled, raising an eyebrow, as if he hadn't been listening the entire time to this angel's beautiful soprano.

"So he says," she blushed.

"You have a lovely voice," Travis commented. "It almost reminds me of one of my foster mothers."

Travis waited for the flicker of recognition in the nurse's eyes, the eventual reproach upon the realization that Travis was one of _those _kids growing up. However, in her eyes, he saw no judgment. She merely produced a grin so sweet he had to smile back.

"Travis." he held out his hand.

"Lydia." she shook his hand ever so politely before turning back to washing the dirty child. "Forgive me," she spoke as she reached for some shampoo. "I don't want Samuel to be dirty a second longer."

"Mister Travis saved me. He and his friends." Samuel pointed out as Lydia squirted some of the shampoo into her hands. She stopped, looking up in confusion.

"Police?" she asked.

"Yeah," Travis nodded, kneeling down beside her. "My partner and I are here on a case. We're from LA."

"Oh." Lydia's smile seemed to fade for a minute as she worked the lather into her hands slightly before applying it to Samuel's matted hair. "California."

"That's where Sammy's from." Travis tried to explain the best he could. He didn't want to get into police matters.

"Really?" Lydia looked at Samuel.

"Yeah," Sammy nodded. "My mommy and daddy sent Mister Travis and his friend for me."

"Oh?"

"Essentially." Travis faltered. "Kind of."

"Not really." Lydia finished.

"Yeah." Travis nodded gratefully. "It's a long story."

"Confidential, I assume." Lydia nodded understandably. "Don't worry, I'm not one to prod."

"That's good to hear." Travis sat down, leaning against the wall. He watched Samuel as he washed the shampoo from his hair. The boy was smiling unabashedly, even splashing some water at Lydia, who cleverly moved to the side. Travis chuckled.

"All right, Sammy, you're all clean." Lydia beamed at him after some time.

"I don't want to get out…" Samuel moaned, cowering lower into the water. "I'm too tired."

"Sam-"

"Here," Travis stood up, rolling up his sleeves. "I'll get him out of the tub."

"Really?" Lydia flushed again.

"Sure," Travis shrugged. "Can you hand me a towel once he's out?"

"Of course."

"Thanks." Travis looked down at Samuel. "You better not splash me, little man."

Samuel burst into a fit of giggles, even when Travis's strong hands slipped under the warm water and plucked him out like he was picking an apple from the outstretched branch of a tree. Lydia handed Travis a dry towel, and he wrapped it around the thin body of Samuel Wanda, pressing it close. Samuel clung on to the towel for warmth as goosebumps began to prick his skin.

"There," Travis smiled, rubbing the boy's shoulders. _"Now,_ you're all clean."

Lydia had remained silent. When Travis glanced over at her, she was shaking her head in disbelief.

"Why do you care so much?" she asked softly. "No other policeman I've known as helped so extensively."

"He reminds me of myself." Travis spoke after a pause.

"Californian?"

"Alone." Travis whispered. Lydia bowed her head.

"Mister Travis, are my mommy and daddy coming to get me soon?" Samuel asked.

"Soon," Travis whispered. "As soon as I can find them."

"Okay." Samuel nodded. "Okay."

"Samuel, how long were you away from your parents?" Lydia asked, frowning. Her wet hands came to rest at the foot of the tub.

"I dunno." The boy shrugged. "Ever since Mommy and Daddy went away, I've been in that room."

"We found him trapped in a locked closet." Travis explained. "It was dark, cramped, uncomfortable…"

"Someone kidnapped him."

"Someone." Travis repeated with a sigh.

"Do you know who did this?" Lydia asked. "Do you know who would hurt a child?"

Travis just looked at her. He couldn't say. He didn't want to say his name. He couldn't say the name of the person who had hurt him and his friends so much. Travis's friends _were _his family. He wouldn't let anything happen to his family.

As if on cue, Travis's phone rang, breaking the silence between the two adults.

_Wes Mitchell. _

"Take it," Lydia nodded. "We'll be fine."

Travis nodded. "It's my partner," he said, as if he had explained everything with only two words. Lydia looked down before turning back to Samuel.

Stepping outside the bathroom, Travis held the phone up to his ear. "Wes," he spoke urgently. "Talk to me."

"Ramon was at the hotel." Wes's voice did not come at all like Travis expected. Instead of sharp and concise, his voice was broken and, almost, fearful. "Ramon was at the hotel, and he broke into Alex's room."

"No."

"He attacked Nick. He attacked Alex."

"Wes-"

"N-Nick is dead. I don't know about Alex, I think she might have been…she could have been…she was _attacked,_ Travis."

Travis felt weak. His knees were threatening to buckle at any minute. "Are you sure of any of this?" he breathed out softly, for he did not want to believe anything he was hearing.

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't have told you." Wes's sounded stressed; Travis could hear him sigh. "Just…just get down here, Travis. I need you here."


	37. Court Reporter

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter thirty-seven

* * *

**Court Reporter:** The person who records everything said during the court hearing on a stenograph machine and prepares a written record for a fee, if requested.

* * *

"Whoa, hold up." Travis instructed the cab driver as they neared the hotel. Well, at least, it was a hotel when Travis last saw it. Now, it was scattered with ambulances and fire trucks.

"Why would you want to go there?" The cab driver muttered as he turned into the parking lot. Travis couldn't answer. He was still too shocked. Wes was right. Of course, Wes had been right. Ramon had definitely put his mark on the place.

Handing the driver a few stray dollar bills, Travis hopped out of the car, jogging over to the first uniformed officer he saw.

"Detective Marks, LAPD." he said to the man, who was writing something down on a clipboard. The officer looked up at the name, as if he recognized it somehow.

"LAPD, huh?" he repeated. "Your other guy's upstairs."

"Wes?"

"Yeah, sure." he shrugged. "Apparently, he knew the perp."

_And the victims, _Travis thought as he pushed past the officer and into the hotel room. _Which room?_ He texted Wes. He didn't get a response, but asked the next officer he saw.

"Room one-oh-two."

"Thanks." Travis headed towards the stairs in haste. Room one hundred and two, the same room Alex was staying in. Of course.

But how did Ramon find out? Had he followed her all the way to Miami? Had he ever been in LA? Travis could not wrap his mind around this seemingly omnipotent man, who wreaked havoc wherever he went, whomever he touched. What had Ramon done to Samuel? Or was the captivity of the child solely on Mrs. Caballo? Travis wondered how much Samuel got to eat, how often he got to go outside, if ever, and play like kids were supposed to. He had been in captivity for months, and Travis was getting the feeling that Samuel had been ignored ever since.

Not anymore.

Travis was going to make sure Samuel got the care he needed and was reunited with his family.

* * *

The first person Travis came upon was Benjamin Dias. The cop sat on the blood-stained ground, absently inspecting a bloodied knife in a plastic bag.

"Ben," Travis frowned. "What the hell happened?"

"Look at this knife, Detective." Ben whispered, staggering up so he could stand. "There's an inscription."

"Whoa, bud." Travis steadied the wobbly rookie. "You should sit."

"Why?" Ben tumbled back down anyway, putting his head in his hands. "Why?"

Travis looked at the knife, inspecting the weapon. He wasn't exactly sure who used it, but he had a pretty good idea. Ben was right, there was an inscription. R.A.T.S. was carved into the side of the handle.

"We should call the FBI." Ben whispered. Travis looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't you think that's a little extreme?" Travis disagreed. "We already have uniforms here."

"Like whom?"

"Like the police? We're the police, man."

"No." Ben looked up, eyes ablaze. "_I'm _the police. And I _need_ backup."

The whirling of the ambulance seemed to distract Ben. He stopped glaring at Travis and turned, with hunched shoulders, towards the window, peering out of it glumly.

Wes suddenly appeared at the doorway. Travis didn't know where he came from, or how he got there, but here he was. And Alex was in his arms.

"Alex?" Travis stared at her in shock. She had been clothed hastily in Wes's pale, blue shirt. The shirttail reached past her bottom. Her thin, black tights were ripped and splattered in blood. As was the rest of her body. Cuts and bruises scatted the visible parts of her body. As for Wes, Travis figured, the cuts were much deeper than any knife could do.

"Travis," Wes nodded at his partner. "Thanks for finally showing up."

"Shit, man." Travis cursed. He was furious. Ramon could hurt him all he wanted, but going after _Alex? _ That was like attacking Wes. Travis wouldn't allow that.

Alex wouldn't look at Travis; her face was buried in the crook of Wes's shoulder. Her chest heaved up and down, Travis did not know if she was crying or not.

"Where's Nick?" Travis asked the room, his face turned towards the vast ceiling.

"Nick!" Ben laughed manically, his hands sliding off of his face limply. "Didn't you hear?"

Travis looked towards the rookie, his face pained.

"You didn't?" Ben's face fell, his crooked smile faded. "You didn't hear?" His voice had shrunk to the size of a pebble, his skin paling. "You don't know that he's gone?"

Travis hung his head. He didn't say anything for a long time. "Ben-"

"_Don't."_ Ben whispered. His voice cracked, and he looked down in shame at his weakness. "Don't try to make it better." He pushed Travis to the side and left the room.

For a brief moment, the three California natives did not say anything to each other. Wes held onto Alex, Alex held onto Wes, and Travis held onto the thin, wispy, sliver of hope that Nick would walk into the room at any second.

"Sir," a paramedic walked into the room. "We have an ambulance ready for your wife."

"Thank you." Wes whispered.

"Would you like to accompany your wife to the hospital, sir? We have room for you and your partner to come with us."

"Whicn hospital?" Travis asked.

"Mercy Miami, sir."

Travis let out a relieved breath. That was the same hospital Samuel Wanda was staying at. The same hospital Lydia worked at, the pretty nurse who sang so beautifully. Brushing the thought aside, Travis addressed the paramedic.

"That's fine. We'll go with you."

Wes nodded at his partner gratefully.

"What about Lieutenant Stein?" Wes asked.

"Lieutenant Stein?" The paramedic frowned at the unrecognizable name.

"The man who was murdered." Wes bit back his impatience.

"Oh, of course!" the paramedic remembered. "Forgive me. The body is also being taken to Mercy Miami. We had another policemen go with the body to the hospital. I believe he was the lieutenant's partner."

Travis and Wes swapped concerned glances. _Benjamin. _

"Shall we?" The paramedic opened the door a little wider. The two men and Alex followed behind him, past reporters and uniforms and into a small, white ambulance with whirling lights and a very serious driver.

"You're safe now," Travis laid his hand on Alex's shoulder. She flinched and shied away from him. Wes looked at her; his eyes bearing so much pain that Travis himself had to look away. This was not how he wanted this to happen. He never wanted his partner to hurt like this. Wes was nothing without Alex.

She would get the help she needed. For Ben, however, Travis was not so sure his wounds would be healed so quickly.


	38. Chattels

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter thirty-eight

* * *

**Chattels:** All property except real property; personal property. For example: jewelry, clothing, furniture, and appliances.

* * *

Everyone seemed to be going in pairs at Mercy Miami Hospital. A Sexual Assault Nurse took Alex (with Wes at her side) for a forensic examination, and Travis went off to find the child. Ben thought the predicament was hardly fair, leaving him sitting outside the hospital morgue on a small, plastic, uncomfortable chair. The murder weapon, still in a plastic bag, lay on his lap. In his trembling hand was his phone. He stared at a picture of Nick and Rachel. He remembered taking that picture like it was yesterday, but he had to have taken it almost a year ago.

Nick and Rachel, looking like proud godparents, held onto little Elise Dias, Ben's daughter, at the time a newborn. They were in the maternity ward, crowded around a hospital room. Ben could almost see his wife, Isabella, in the background as she slept away her exhaustion.

And now, Ben was back at this hospital, except this time, a life was not brought into the world. A life had ended, and Rachel Stein had no idea.

* * *

Samuel Wanda was sleeping peacefully when Travis came into the room. The quaint child had curled up in the blankets of the hospital bed, his head sinking into the pillow ever so slightly.

Someone had placed an extra blanket on top of the sleeping child, Travis noticed with a smile. He wasn't the only one who cared about Samuel Wanda. He wasn't the only one who wanted this poor boy to get the justice he deserved.

Taking a seat next to Samuel, Travis slipped out his phone. He might as well make himself useful while Sammy slept. Kendall had sent him a text nearly an hour ago. Why hadn't Travis received the notification? Frowning, he viewed the message. _Found Mr. and Mrs. Wanda, _she had written, and gave Travis a phone number.

That was it. All that was separating Samuel from his parents was a seven digit number.

* * *

Wes sat in his chair, silent as Alex changed into a hospital gown. He dared not look at her. He dared not look at the nurse, a kind woman whose sympathetic words and soft pats were enough to get Alex crying again.

He had no idea that there were nurses _specifically _for rape and assault. All those times at work, when he came upon men and women who had been assaulted, he called in other uniforms. Travis had told him once that he was too apathetic for dealing with such trauma, and, for once, Wes listened to his partner.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?" The nurse, who called herself Mrs. Ann, spoke to Alex. Alex was silent as Ann ran a comb through Alex's hair. Grabbing a few loose ends, she placed them in a bag for DNA evidence, Wes knew. The hair could be compared to any other stray hairs that could belong to Ramon.

"W-what happened?" Alex repeated.

"Yes, dear." Ann nodded. "Honey, I can't help you fully unless I know if you were raped or not."

* * *

"This is Pablo Wanda."

"Mr. Wanda," Travis took in a deep breath. "This is Detective Travis Marks with the LAPD."

"The police?" the man's voice hitched. "Is this about my son?"

"Yes, sir, it is."

"Is he dead?" Pablo's voice was almost gruff. "Has he been hurt?"

"Mr. Wanda," Travis tried to brush aside the thought. "I'm calling from Miami, Florida. My partner and I found your son trapped in the home of a woman named Sofía Caballo. Does the name mean anything to you?"

"You are saying that Sammy is alive?" Pablo asked, his voice cracking.

"Yes, Mr. Wanda." Travis smiled. "Yes, I am."

"Excuse me," came the hasty response. He could hear Pablo frantically calling his wife, and then some rushed, gentle Spanish before Mrs. Wanda began to scream and cry and thank the Lord.

* * *

"I wasn't…" Alex struggled to say the word that plagued Wes's mind as well as hers. "He didn't…"

"You were not raped," Mrs. Ann confirmed. "Oh, honey, it is good to hear that news. That makes my job a lot easier. You're a very lucky girl."

"Lieutenant Stein saved me." Alex explained. "He didn't even know me, and now he's dead."

"From what I've seen, I'm glad you were saved." Ann touched Alex's cheek. "I'll be back in a moment. I'll give you and your husband some time."

The door closed softly behind the nurse. Wes never thought he'd ever been so relieved in his life. He flanked next to Alex in an instant, his hands running along her shoulders, gently rubbing up and down. She trembled under his familiar, loving touches. So different than with Ramon.

"Oh, Alex." he pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. He just wanted to feel her warmth beside him, to know that she was safe now. To know that this wasn't his entire fault.

"Wes," Alex pulled back, still clutching his arms. "I have to tell you something."

"Of course." he nodded. "Anything."

"It's about R-Ramon." She shuddered. "He…he kept telling me something, right before Lieutenant Stein saved me. He said, 'you're my _star'_, over and over again. Does that mean anything to you?"

Wes stepped back. Something seemed to click in his head. He didn't understand what it meant, but he knew that he must be right.

"S.T.A.R.," he whispered. "Not R.A.T.S. We had it backwards."

* * *

"Can you tell me about the night of your son's disappearance?" Travis asked softly to Mrs. Wanda as she took over the conversation. She apologized profusely for her screaming, and assured Travis that Pablo was in no emotional state to speak at the moment.

"Of course, of course." she cleared her throat. Every so often she would stop speaking all together, taking a moment just to cry. "Uh," she sniffed. "Samuel was the S.T.A.R. student in his class, so, as a reward, Pablo and I took him to a baseball game. He just loves the Dodgers."

"S.T.A.R., ma'am?"

"Oh, yes. It's an acronym, you see. It stands for Students Taking Arranged Responses. It's some sort of pop quiz. I'm not entirely sure of the details, but it just came about this year. Our Samuel aced the test, topping his class."

"S.T.A.R." Travis repeated.

"Yes, S.T.A.R."

_S.T.A.R., not R.A.T.S._

* * *

Dropping his phone in the chair next to him, Benjamin Dias put his head in his hands. For a moment he considered calling his wife, whom he desperately wanted to see, but his grief overtook him. All he could do was breath in and out very slowly until he regained some sort of composure.

Something fell to the ground with a clatter. Looking up from his crouched position, Ben noticed the bag on the floor.

The knife had been flipped around, the handle the most visible part to Ben. _S.T.A.R._, it said. Funny, Ben always thought of it as _R.A.T.S. _Perhaps it was just a mistake. Or, perhaps S.T.A.R. was a different code entirely.

Jolting out of his seat, Ben ran out of the morgue.

* * *

The three policemen met up simultaneously in the hospital cafeteria, located on the one floor they hadn't visited. Wes wasn't entirely sure how all three of them knew where to find one another, but, he supposed, he had a pretty good guess to go where food was involved.

"S.T.A.R." Ben was breathing heavily, shaking his head frantically. "Not R.A.T.S."

"We had the code wrong the whole time." Travis added. "Why didn't we think of this before?"

"S.T.A.R. still doesn't make any sense!" Wes exclaimed. "I had the same thought, but…but _still_! It doesn't get us any closer to finding Ramon."

"You know what we have to do, then." Ben looked amongst the two men. Travis caught on, nodding.

"What?" Wes frowned. He was out of the loop.

"We have to talk to the one person on _our _side who knows about Ramon." Ben said. "The girl we have locked in a jail cell."

"Annalisse Lopez." Travis said the name smugly. "I think it's time we paid her a visit, what do you think, Wes?"


	39. Interpreter

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter thirty-nine

* * *

**Interpreter****:**The person who correctly translates court hearings from a second language to English. An interpreter is provided at no cost to the person who needs the interpreter in all cases where the person's life, freedom, children or housing are at risk of being taken away. Interpreters are also provided for criminal and child support cases.

* * *

Annalisse Lopez had remained almost unnoticed to the three detectives, even Nick. Travis tried to remember the last time the thought of the young woman had crossed his mind. It would have been so convenient to ask her questions about Ramon and 'Wanda', but every time, the door to her jail cell had remained locked. It had been weeks since he had last seen her.

But he had not completely forgotten the woman who first shot Lieutenant Stein. Opening the door to her jail cell, now, the woman almost looked eager.

"Is it my time?" She asked. "Am I free?"

Travis grabbed her handcuffed hands and began to drag her towards the interrogation room.

"Oh, please tell me that I am free!" She begged. Travis opened the door roughly and sat her down on the metal chair. Wes came up to close the door.

Annalisse looked around her. In the corner of the room, Benjamin Dias leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. The other two detectives took their seats opposite her. The blond detective pulled out a pad of paper from his pocket and a pen, which he clicked rapidly three times before beginning to write.

"_Me enteré de su pareja. No era de mi hacer. Yo he rogado por ti." _Annalisse spoke to Ben, her eyes pleading. The young detective looked away from her, clenching his teeth together. The muscles in his jaw were prominent.

"_Nada de lo que digas borrar mi dolor o la culpabilidad._" Ben snarled, eyes ablaze.

"First rule of the interrogation room: English." Travis held up his hands. "Just saying."

Ben disappeared into the dark corner again, and Annalisse watched him solemnly.

"Yo, Miss Lopez." Travis snapped his finger once. "Come back to the nice-looking detective in front of you."

"Just one nice looking detective?" Wes mused without looking up.

"Say hi to the average looking detective." Travis gestured towards his partner.

"Hello." Annalisse muttered coldly.

Wes scoffed.

"Has Ramon had any contact with you since your arrest?" Travis asked.

"Considering my lack of phone calls…no."

"Did he explain his plans to you before you came after Lieutenant Stein?" Wes asked.

"What plans?" Annalisse asked. "Why are you asking this now? Why not when I was first arrested?"

"Shut up and answer the question." Ben snapped. "What did Ramon tell you?"

"Nothing." Annalisse answered, throwing Ben a look of petulance.

"You're lying."

"Yes."

"Uh, Miss Lopez?" Travis held up a finger for her to wait. "I would advise you not to make Mr. Dias angry. Today has not been his day."

"That's a little insensitive." Wes muttered. Travis pushed him slightly, and Wes held onto the table so he wouldn't fall out of his chair.

"Do you two need some time alone?" Annalisse raised her eyebrows.

"What do you know about the acronym S.T.A.R.?" Ben asked, stepping forward. He was out of the dark now, and seemed to be all business.

"Ah." Annalisse smiled. "Much."

"Tell me."

"No."

"C'mon, just tell him. Really." Travis rolled his eyes. "This is getting old."

"I will tell you this," Annalisse resigned. "Come July Fourth, you three better be ready for fireworks."

* * *

The next morning, when Wes and Travis returned to the police station, they were greeted by a familiar face standing in handcuffs.

Sofía Caballo.

"Morning," Benjamin Dias greeted them energetically, brushing past them quickly with a file of papers in his hands.

Travis and Wes glanced at each other suspiciously. They had not expected Ben to come to work today. They had not wanted him to come to work today. His partner had just been murdered; the young cop must be traumatized. Yet here he was. Back at work.

"Ben," Travis stopped the rookie as he walked about, frantically finalizing the arrest of Sofía Caballo.

"I arrested her this morning. Three in the morning, actually." Ben looked up at Detective Marks, his eyes hopeful for approbation. "Don't worry, I was nice with her."

"Wh-what did you arrest her for?" Wes rubbed his temples. Last night he had been a wreck, and it must have been worse for Ben. He wished the young man would tell he and Travis how he was holding up.

"Oh, lots of things. Attempted murder, kidnapping, the list goes on." Ben nodded eagerly.

"Okay," Wes took in a deep breath. "I understand _why _you did that, but…why go back to that house?"

"Simple." Ben answered. "_He_ needs to be found. Who better to ask than his mother?"

"Ben..."

"So, after a less than cordial talk with Mrs. Caballo, I took her back here."

"Okay, sorry to bring you down from your coffee high, man, but I don't understand how this got us any closer to finding Ramon." Travis put in cautiously.

"Oh, this isn't coffee. This is the first time I've had a cigarette since high school. I feel really…different."

"Focus-"

"You did cigarettes in high school? Who _does _that?" Travis interrupted his partner, mouth agape.

"_Travis_." Wes sighed. "Listen, Ben. It's a holiday; you should take a day off."

"Policemen don't take days off." Ben shook his head. "Don't you want to track down Ramon?"

"Of course." Wes nodded. "I want to catch the bastard who attacked my wife."

"_Don't_." Ben snapped. "Don't try to make what he did to your wife worse than death."

"What?"

"What are you saying, Wes? That because Nick is _dead _that what happened to him isn't as bad as what happened to your wife because she's still _alive_?"

"I didn-"

"_You_ didn't have to call Nick's wife, Wes!" Ben exclaimed. "You didn't have to tell her that her husband was murdered, and that we didn't have any leads on Ramon! I have nothing to give her, Wes! _Nothing! _He's dead!"

"Ben, calm down!" Travis exclaimed. "You're taking this out of context, man." He sighed. "This is off topic. We need to think about this."

"Travis is right." Wes answered. "Listen, Ben. We needed to go to Mrs. Caballo's house twice to find Samuel."

"So?"

"So," Wes took in a deep breath. "We need to check the warehouse twice. To see what we can find. What better night to do it than the night of July Fourth?"

"The night Miss Lopez warned us about." Ben whispered.

Although the other two did not see, Travis had begun to pale. The warehouse was the one place he didn't want to go back to.


	40. Broken Down Irretrievably

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter forty

* * *

**A/n:** Time for the big confrontation! This story is coming to a close, so I just wanted to give a big thank you to those who have faithfully read and reviewed.

**Broken Down Irretrievably:** The most common reason for granting a divorce. It means there is no hope of the husband and wife getting back together again. Also known as "no-fault" divorce.

* * *

That night, amidst patriotic celebrations and the yet oncoming slew of fireworks, the three policemen returned back to the warehouse they had been days before, except, this time, they were one member short.

The fact was painfully obvious to Benjamin Dias, who hadn't felt all like himself since the day his partner was murdered. Yesterday. July Third.

"I can see why I wasn't expected to be found in a place like this." Travis muttered, flipping on his flashlight. Wes nodded dully, rubbing the back of his head. Travis might not recall the dark warehouse they were about to reenter, but Wes still remembered every agonizing second. He couldn't imagine being without his police partner. With the death of Nick and the effect it was having on Ben, however, Wes didn't want to try to imagine.

"The door is open." Wes whispered as the three neared warehouse number three. The night seemed to remember their presence, seemed to play back the feelings and fears of the last visit to the warehouse for Wes. He hugged his suit jacket closer to him, although the slim garment did not warm him any.

"Do you think Ramon put something in there?" Ben asked. He had calmed down considerably since his actions at the office. The silent car ride over seemed to relax his array of emotions.

"Or someone." Wes suggested. Travis winced, and, to his great humiliation, Wes noticed.

"C'mon." Wes said stiffly. "Let's check this place out." He fished out his own light, and, together, the three men went into the dark space.

Boxes were still strewn everywhere, as if the place hadn't been touched since Wes had ransacked it days earlier in his strained haste.

"Over there." Wes pointed to a row of large boxes. "That's where I found you, Travis."

"Great." Travis grumbled. "Thanks for the reminder."

"No, I think he's saying we should go check out those boxes, again." Ben interjected, already heading towards the refrigerator boxes. Wes and Travis joined him, and they began to tear down the large pieces of cardboard.

Travis sized up a particularly large box before jumping up and knocking it down. He kicked it aside before looking up.

"Wes."

"What?" His partner called from further away.

"Look."

Wes poked his head around a few stray boxes and followed Travis's gaze.

A door stood before them, slightly open. Light illuminated through the crack under the door.

"That has to be Ramon." Ben whispered. "He would want us to find him.

"This is it."

The door opened easily, too easily. A gentle tug was all that was needed before the entrance began to creak and pushed aside. Travis turned to look at his partner, but Wes didn't return his gaze. Instead, he reached into his pocket for his gun.

"Wes," Travis warned cautiously. "Don't shoot unless he attacks first."

"Keep walking, man." Wes ignored him.

A short hallway ran from the door to another room, where the light was coming from. The hall was darker than Travis expected, and, once again, he took his flashlight out. The beam of light led the way, and Travis kept his eyes glued to the ground.

The light stopped when it reached the end of the hallway, landing on a black, Italian-made, leather shoe.

The light slowly, fearfully, trailed its way up the body of the man before landing on the smiling face of Ramon Caballo.

He sat comfortably in a single chair, the only furniture in the empty room. Surrounding him and in the corners of the room were various candles, all lit. The only light in the room, besides the flashlights the policemen were holding onto. Except Wes, who clutched his gun tighter than he ever had before.

Wes took the safety off his gun and stepped forward.

"_Wes!"_ Travis hissed, holding back his partner before he could charge Ramon.

"Let me go, Travis." Wes whispered, glaring at his partner's blue eyes in fury.

"And let you get killed?" Travis responded, his voice equally as low and eyes equally as dark. "Not a chance."

"Well, this is certainly valiant. A shame that you'll all be dead before you can profess your love to one another." Ramon's easy, smug voice seemed to bounce off the walls. Travis bit his lip, refraining from turning around and attacking Ramon himself.

"Ramon Caballo," Benjamin Dias stepped forward from the hallway and into the room, his gun out as well. "You're under arrest."

"Ha." Ramon's laugh was short, contrite, and seeping with confidence. "I don't think so."

"Are you denying the crimes you have committed?" Ben snapped.

"Please, don't be so melodramatic, young child." Ramon rolled his eyes before speaking to Travis. "Speaking of children, how is our dear Sammy, hmm?"

"You sick bastard." Travis turned around slowly, his hands balled into fists.

"Yes, yes, I suppose." Ramon took the insult in, nodding thoughtfully. "That's the right word."

"Do you have no _heart_?" Ben exclaimed. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Oh," Ramon considered the question. "It's all sort of psychological."

"By that, do you mean 'psychopath'?" Wes snapped.

"Well, you know all about psychology, don't you, Detective?" Ramon raised his eyebrows gleefully. "Please give my regards to your therapist. Listening to you and Detective Marks here certainly has been a highlight in my brief time investigating you."

"Investigating?"

"Yes, _investigating._" Ramon repeated slowly. "That's what you do, is it not? Investigate? So, I decided, just this once, I would investigate the two of _you_."

"Why?" Travis asked. "What for?"

"Why not?" Ramon countered. "You do so five days a week; you attack people with your questions and handcuffs and esteemed _intellect_."

"By people do you mean criminals?" Wes snapped. "Because, yes, we bring criminals to justice. Exactly what we're going to do to you."

"That's the thing. That's why the two of you are _so _stupid. You label. You classify. 'Criminals' aren't meant to have feelings. They aren't supposed to be 'real'. They're awful, pathetic excuses for human beings. Thank God for people like Detectives Mitchell and Marks, who, despite their personal disagreements are working together for the better of the _community_ in hope that they can become as great as people such as Lieutenant Nick Stein-"

"Don't you use his name!" Ben screamed.

"Excuse me, have I struck a chord?" Ramon seemed entertained as Travis and Wes pushed the thrashing Ben against the wall. Travis took his gun from him.

"We need to ask you a few questions," Travis pointed the gun at Ramon. "No more games. Just cooperation."

"But I do love games."

Travis took the safety off Ben's gun.

"All right." Ramon threw up his hands. "You have until midnight."

Travis checked his watch. Ramon hadn't given them much time. "Wes, search him."

"Gladly." Wes advanced towards Ramon, who instantly stood up, letting the LA cop search his pockets for a weapon.

"What's this?" Wes frowned, pulling out a small box from Ramon's pocket. Ramon's grin widened.

"Ah." Ramon laughed. "What does it say, Detective? This is where you use your _intellect_."

"Ten minutes," Wes whispered. "Ten minutes until what?"

Fireworks began to sound from the outside world. Travis jumped at the noise, his gun pointed at Ramon and ready to shoot if the man tried to make a run for it. Wes's heart jumped into his mouth, but he swallowed his fear. He wouldn't let the holiday festivities distract him from the task at hand. Ramon.

"Ten minutes?" he repeated.

"Ten." Ramon answered.

"Why are you here? Why are you doing this? What was the point of taking a child, and why the hell are you so obsessed with Travis and I?" Wes rattled off all the questions he could think of.

Ramon merely shrugged.

"Don't act like you can't hear." Ben snapped. "I know you know the answer to everything we ask. And if you won't answer him, answer me."

"Of _course_."

"Why did you kill my partner?"

"Oh, boo hoo, Benjamin Dias. Boo hoo." Ramon sighed dramatically. "This is all so traumatizing to you, isn't it? People _die,_ simpleton. That's just what they _do._ Please stop the waterworks."

"I don-"

"Don't _justify_ yourself to me!" Ramon roared. "I don't need to hea-"

"_You attacked my wife!" _Wes, who was close enough to Ramon to grab him, hoisted him up by his shirt and shook him vigorously.

"Put me down, Detective Mitchell." Ramon said evenly. "Now."

Wes dropped the man, breathing heavily. He couldn't believe how angry he had gotten, so angry that his vision blurred, that he saw red. His hands were shaking.

"Honestly." Ramon sighed. "I would never go after a _married _woman. I _do_ have morals."

"Don't justify yourself, Ramon." Travis snapped. "Don't try to play 'victim' here."

"Well, Detective, I think being attacked is pretty victimizing. Although, so is being drugged and stuffed in a box."

"Why did you make up a lie about your wife?" Travis tried his best to ignore Ramon's incessant words. "Why would you jeopardize a child?"

"This must be so troubling to you, Detective, as you were the forgotten child yourself, were you not?" Ramon didn't wait for an answer. "No, I only needed the child for his name. _Wanda._" He drawled. "If I had to chose, Wanda would be a lovely name for a wife. Or," he turned towards Wes "Alex."

"You shut up." Wes spoke slowly. "You shut up _right now_, or I swear, I will shoot you."

"I don't doubt you, Detective. You seem rather impulsive to me."

Ben bent down and picked up the timer that had been discarded on the floor. The small box had a screen on the front that was sensitive to touch. When Ben brushed his thumb across the screen, four small blanks appeared, along with a keypad.

"There's a code?"

"Do you think I'm that stupid?"

"What is it, then?" Ben's patience was lost. "R.A.T.S. or S.T.A.R.?"

Ramon yawned. "Six minutes."

"Try R.A.T.S." Travis said. "'R' for 'Ramon'."

Ben hurriedly typed in _Ramon_. The box vibrated angrily in his sweaty hands, the screen turning red. _Try again. _

"You'll find that I like codes to be in order." Ramon hinted. More fireworks could be heard from above them.

"S.T.A.R." Wes frowned, as revelation dawned upon him. "You're going to blow up the warehouse. That's why these candles are here."

"I'm sending myself to the _stars_." Ramon beamed.

"You would kill yourself?" Travis gaped.

"I'm a horrible person." Ramon shrugged. "What did you call me? A sick bastard."

"Guys, five minutes." Ben's voice edged with panic. "S.T.A.R.?"

"T-try 'Samuel' for 'S'." Travis tried. Ben typed in the name and the screen turned green. _Correct. _

"'T' for 'Travis'." Ben was catching on. _T…R…A…P-_

Ben messed up, and had to start over. His hands trembled, but he quickly typed 'Samuel' back in, along with 'Travis'.

Four minutes.

"'A' for 'Alex'." Wes whispered. Ramon began to move towards Ben, but Wes shot up, grabbing Ramon and holding him steady.

"'R'." Ben looked up. "Who's 'R'? Who have you hurt, now?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I did nothing to this woman." Ramon answered. "I did not touch her."

Three minutes.

"Rachel," Ben's voice cracked. "'R' for 'Rachel'. Nick's wife."

_Rachel. _

_Correct. _

The timer shook so violently that it slipped from Ben's hands. It fell with a clatter on the ground where it lay still. It was deactivated.

"Ah." Ramon stared at the broken device. "Well, thank you for your intelligence, Benjamin Dias. But I still intend on blowing something up tonight."

Wes knew that deactivating the timer had been too easy. Of course it had been. Ramon had left them clues; he had intentionally led them to him. He wanted to be found. He wanted the time to be deactivated. In fact, the time was simply a distraction.

"What have you done?" Wes asked in horror.

"Not 'what have I done'," Ramon shook his head. "'What am I doing'? You have two—maybe less than two minutes—to leave this warehouse before it blows to smithereens."

"No." Ben took a step back. "You wouldn't."

"I am. I will." Ramon sat back down, crossing one leg over the other. "Horrible people deserve to die."

"So what was the point?" Wes frantically asked. "Why bring us here?"

"Who wants to die alone?" Ramon shrugged. "What a horrible way to go."

"You're _going _to hell." Ben snapped.

"Sure." Ramon agreed. "But at least I'll have company."

"Wes, we need to leave." Travis warned. "We don't have time to argue."

"I'm not leaving without you!" Wes yelled at Ramon. "Come with us!"

"No can do." Ramon shook his head. "This is my last adventure, my last hurrah. Die with me like the lieutenant or live like the lawyer. Dead or damaged, take your pick."

"Dead." Ben spoke. "You can't damage me anymore."

"Don't tempt me." Ramon winked, looking down casually at his watch. "Thirty seconds."

"_Wes!" _ Travis yelled. "I'm not leaving until you do!"

"Then you'll have to stay, man!" Wes yelled. "I'm not leaving without Ramon!"

"Why the hell does it matter? Let's _go_!"

Wes took in a deep breath. "Ramon Caballo you're under arrest for-"

Midnight. Too late.


	41. Common Law

Cross-Examination

Common Law

Chapter forty-one

* * *

**A/n:** Well, here it is. The last chapter. This has been my longest story to date, and I hope it turned out well. Thank you to all the dedicated reviewers and faithful followers, your feedback meant so much. And thank you to BrokenSky49, who Beta read my earlier chapters.

**Common Law:** Laws that develop through case decisions by judges. Not enacted by legislative bodies.

* * *

It had been a week since the explosion of the warehouse in Miami, Florida, a city that either detective lost the desire to ever visit again. A week was as long a time as Detectives Mitchell and Marks needed.

The explosion had not gone without repercussions. The three men were immediately hospitalized, taken to the same hospital where, coincidentally, Samuel Wanda and Alex MacFarland Mitchell were being cared for.

Days later, when the men were finally awake and responding to treatment, they were allowed to attend the widely visited funeral for the late Lieutenant Nick Stein.

The case was closed, booked, done. Ramon Caballo had died in the explosion, as he had predicted and intended. It almost seemed too good to be true, but the detectives did not want to jinx themselves. They would take what was given to them.

And now, with the finalization of the disappearance of Wanda Caballo, Detectives Mitchell and Marks were allowed to return home.

* * *

Los Angeles, California

Los Angeles had never looked sweeter to Wes. He had never been the sentimental type, to his now ex-wife's dismay, but he almost felt a little emotional as he neared his car again in the airport parking lot. If he had to profess his love to anything, it would be his car.

To the average passerby, the group might have looked a little worse-for-wear. Wes, with cuts along his face and an incessant, pounding, headache, tried to mask his obvious limp as he fished for his keys. Alex, a pale woman with scratches along her arms and marks on her legs, clung to the arm of her ex as if afraid some overpowering wind might knock her over. Travis, who was nursing a few broken fingers and a ghastly cut near his ear, carried the frail Samuel Wanda atop his shoulders.

"First stop," Wes informed the group as he slid into the driver's seat. Travis took his regular spot in the passenger side. Alex and Samuel clambered into the back. "The police station. It's time Samuel was reunited with his family."

* * *

Los Angeles Police Department, Los Angeles, California

"You're sure they're on their way?" Pablo Wanda asked once again, squeezing his wife's hand.

"Sure, Travis called me." Captain Sutton assured them for the third time. "He told me that they're nearly here."

"It's normal for you to have questions and concerns," Dr. Ryan said soothingly. She had been called down per request of the captain; he wanted her to speak with the anxious parents. "Just know, when your son comes back, he might be a little scared. Perhaps a little different. None of this is your fault, I assure you."

"I've gone through that night so many times in my head." Mr. Wanda sighed. "The night he was taken."

"You want to blame someone," Dr. Ryan nodded. "And, since you're here, you blame yourself. You can put a face to your blame. With Mr. Caballo, you could not."

"Is it true?" Mrs. Wanda looked up, finally. "Is he dead?"

"Yeah." Captain Sutton said gruffly. "He died in an explosion, _after _he attacked two innocent people, not including your son."

"Two innocent people?" Dr. Ryan looked up. "Is there a reason you looked so stressed?"

The door flung open. In stumbled Wes, Travis, a woman Dr. Ryan did not recognize, and a small child.

"Sammy," Pablo stood up shakily, leaning against the desk in front of him for support.

"Momma! Daddy!" Samuel exclaimed, rushing into his parent's open arms.

Travis watched as, slowly, the small family broke down in tears of joy and relief. Even Samuel began to shake under his father's strong grasp and mother's fervent kisses. Transfixed, the three adults did not look away from Samuel. They didn't notice how everyone else in the office was staring at them.

"Daddy, I was saved! Mister Travis and Mister Wes and Mister Benjie saved me! A-and I met an angel, really, Momma! She sang to me and everything! I want to be _just _like Mister Wes and Travis when I grow up."

"No you don't." Wes laughed.

"Yeah, you stay the same, kid, and you'll go far." Travis assured him with a smile.

"Boys," Captain Sutton stepped forward.

Raising his eyebrows, Travis looked over. His eyes fell on his captain, and, instantly, a smile began to form on his somber face.

"Hey, Cap!" Travis and Wes bounded over to their boss—well, Travis bounded and Wes limped—and greeted him.

"You…you did a good job, boys. You found Wanda." Captain Sutton patted their shoulders. He was at a loss for words. He could not describe the fear he felt when he got a phone call from a Miami police officer, calling about the whereabouts of his two star detectives. _Hospitalized. Bad condition. Explosion. One stable. One has breathing troubles. _The words still rang in his ears.

"Thanks, Captain." Wes nodded. "It's…it's good to be back."

Captain Sutton peered past Travis's slightly hunched shoulder, watching as Dr. Ryan approached Alex MacFarland, gently touching her shoulder. Alex jumped, letting out a small cry.

"Hey," Wes was at her side in an instant. "Alex."

"Sorry. I'm sorry." Alex muttered, apologizing to Dr. Ryan.

"It's not a problem." Dr. Ryan assured her. "I assume you are the former Mrs. Mitchell?"

"Yes."

"I think you were very valiant to accompany Wes in his case."

"T-thank you." Alex nodded.

"Dr. Ryan." Wes greeted her.

"Wes," she nodded. "Welcome back. We've missed you in our sessions."

"I'm sure." Travis rolled his eyes, walking up to the group. "I'm sure they've forgotten us already."

"I think you'll be surprised to find out that you are mistaken." Dr. Ryan answered. "I'm looking forward to hearing about your trip. Perhaps you and Wes have made a real breakthrough."

Travis and Wes glanced at each other, slightly ill at the thought.

"No." Travis shook his head.

"Yeah, don't think so." Wes answered.

* * *

"_So, I guess this is goodbye." Benjamin Dias rubbed the back of his head._

"_Hey, man." Travis put a reassuring hand on Ben's shoulder. "We're just a phone call away, got it?" _

"_Who you gonna call..." Wes muttered. Ben laughed. A good, hearty laugh. It was good to hear the young man laugh again. _

"_Understood." Ben grinned. "Thank you, for coming to the funeral. That meant a lot." _

"_Of course." Wes answered. "We wouldn't have missed it." _

"_Thanks." Ben said again. "For everything, I mean." He looked down. "I'm better, now." _

"_No more cigarettes, you punk." Travis pretended to look scolding. _

"_They're gone." Ben held up his hands in surrender. "Promise." _

"_You take care of your family, now." Wes pointed at Ben. _

"_Of course." Ben said. "They're my life." _

"_Yeah," Wes whispered. "I know what you mean."_

* * *

Birds chirped early the next morning, waking up Wes from his slumber. The memories of days before faded into nothing, and Wes was alone, sleeping on a familiar couch.

Throwing a soft blanket out of his way, Wes flung his legs off the couch and put his head in his hands. Every time he shut his eyes the memories of Florida flooded his subconscious. Most were memories, but other were contorted nightmares, flickering images of Ramon in the warehouse, Ben screaming over Nick's dead body, Alex being attacked, and Travis, stuffed in a box.

He knew, for a fact, that he was not the only Miami survivor with such trauma. Travis was slowly staring to remember his drugging and kidnapping in painful jolts, and Alex, _his_ Alex, was beside herself.

Dr. Ryan had thrown words at the two of them in therapy, words Wes didn't want to try to connect with himself. _Paranoia, trauma, flashbacks, anger, anxiety, Acute Stress Disorder._ Captain Sutton was making the two partners do double the therapy—group sessions and private sessions consisting of just the two of them. Each session seemed to set Wes back further.

Wes peered towards the window again. It was still dark. What time was it? He reached for his phone, but it wasn't there. Frowning, Wes grabbed his charger. His phone was _gone._

"Travis," Wes hissed. "Travis."

"Hmm?" Travis looked up from the screen he was glued to. "Oh."

"How did you break into my phone? It's passcode locked." Wes grabbed his phone back, glancing at what Travis had been doing.

"In my defense, my phone died." Travis held up his hands in surrender.

"You're texting?" Wes exclaimed. "Who would want to talk to you at five in the morning?"

"Don't hurt my feelings." Travis snatched Wes's phone back. "Here, I'll delete the conversation."

"Oh, no, I want to read this." Wes grabbed his phone back from where Travis was lying down. He had moved an air mattress into the family room. The two detectives had been, more or less, camping with Alex ever since they returned from Florida.

"It's just…it's someone from Miami."

"And here I thought you had retreated to celibacy."

"Jealous." Travis fake-coughed, reaching for the phone.

"No, man!" Wes held the phone up, and, exhausted, Travis did not move from his bed.

"Fine, man. Whatever. Read it. Get some tips on how to address women."

"Yes." Wes threw up his hands. "Thank goodness you're here." He scrolled up through the texts. _Lydia. Lydia. Lydia. _Wes didn't know anyone by the name of Lydia.

"Who-?"

"She was Sammy's nurse." Travis whispered. "She was the angel."

Wes opened his mouth to respond.

"Don't say that she's too good for me." Travis interjected quickly. "Just don't."

"Whatever." Wes plugged his phone back into it's charger. "You want to break her heart? Go ahead."

"No, I want to go to sleep."

"Why didn't you before?"

"If you haven't noticed, sleeping hasn't really been an easy thing for me lately."

Wes didn't say anything. He had noticed, all right. Just like he was sure Travis noticed Wes's unorthodox sleeping patterns. Which were, in essence, hardly sleeping.

Upon hearing rustling from the kitchen, Wes got up, leaving Travis to sleep. He didn't know who was in the kitchen, but he definitely heard a noise, and he was going to investigate it.

"Hello?" Wes whispered, holding onto the kitchen door slightly. No answer. He pushed the door open.

Alex yelped, dropping a spoon that was in her hand. It fell to the ground with a clatter. She didn't move, she didn't reach for the silverware; she merely put her head in her hands.

"Alex." Wes edged towards her. Alex took in a deep breath, letting her hands fall to her side. When she saw it was Wes, her dull eyes lit up. Seconds later, she was in his arms.

"I didn't mean to scare you." He whispered into her hair, rocking her gently back and forth.

"I'm sorry." She spoke into his chest. "I'm sorry I'm so edgy."

"Ssh," he gently pulled back, looking into her wet eyes. "Don't apologize. You don't have to apologize for anything."

"Why are you so nice to me?" Alex asked wondrously. She shook her head in disbelief. "I kicked you out, I…I demanded a divorce, I wanted no part in you or your job or-"

Wes pressed her to him again. He didn't want to relive that time again. He just wanted to hold her. He wanted to stroke her hair and kiss her hair and-

And kiss her lips.

His hands slowly came up to cup her face. With gentle, soft movements, his thumb brushed against her soft skin. Her shaking stopped, and, slowly, she stood still.

His head dipped towards her, and she edged forward, ever so slightly. Ever so cautiously. He pressed his lips to hers.

The butterflies left his stomach immediately. Kissing her felt so familiar, so _right_. The soft cry that escaped her lips only motivated him even more.

Wes pulled her close, deepening their embrace. Alex wove her arms around his neck. His hands dropped to her waist. Alex was the only person who could make him feel this way. She was the only girl he had ever loved and she had gone halfway across the country to be with him.

This time, he wouldn't let her out of his sight. He needed to make sure she was safe.

"Mmm, Wes." Alex pulled back, her heart pounding against her chest. "Travis will hear."

"Yeah." Wes agreed, pressing his lips to hers once more. His hands trailed up her back.

"_Wes._" Alex pulled back again. "We can't do this here."

Wes sighed, placing his hands on his hips. "It's just…" he shrugged. "Travis met this girl in Miami. I don't know, I never saw her, but he kept calling her an angel."

"So?"

"It got me thinking. About you. About my angel."

"That was a good one." Alex rolled her eyes. "Would you-"

Wes kissed her once more, silencing her quip. For now, all he wanted to do was hold her. All he wanted was to know that his family would be safe. His family consisting of Travis and Alex. That was something Nick Stein had taught him. Ben was his family, even though they weren't related. And that was good enough for him. So this, this small, unorthodox, arguing family Wes had pieced together, was good enough for him, and that's all that mattered.


End file.
